Strength Unseen
by Rheniel
Summary: Hermione has hidden a dangerous secret for years, and it's about to kill her. Or so she hopes.
1. Introduction

A/N: I don't own Harry Potter

2 A/N: This is violent. I rated it R for a reason, dearies.

The black velvet of the sky stretched out endlessly overhead. Stars glittered across the heavens as though scattered by a careless hand. The dark, and the silence surrounded, the world hushed as though no creature had ever given voice to thought. A feeling of peace, but anticipation pervaded. It was a breathtaking, beautiful, deadly calm; the calm before the roaring fury of the storm.

Yet some were content to enjoy the calm, to revel in the peace, and not to seek shelter from the coming storm. Three, in fact, were stretched atop a hill, sprawled in the grass. Like the spokes of a giant wheel, they laid, heads together in the grass. Every few moments one of them would speak, hushed and awed, speaking of the sky, or their futures, or the feelings that could only be expressed on such a night.

Hours they had been there, hours they had spent in near-silence together, yet spoken volumes in closeness and hushed murmurs. They had been best friends their whole lives, and had never been apart, not until three years ago, when two had gone off to school, and one had stayed. It had been a test of their friendship, and they had passed. And so, every year for the last three years, they had met here, the first shared day of summer vacation, and renewed the bonds of their friendship.

Their lives had taken completely different directions, each of their experiences entirely different from the others, yet all knew the secrets of the others' lives. They would not sacrifice this closeness for any rule, for any reason, and so they told things meant to be kept secret. One, a child genius, a mathematician and a scholar. Another, the only male of the group, an artist, of a talent and skill seldom seen. The third, a witch; daughter of a world of magic.

They could, and often had, passed between the worlds of magic and non, for an outing or a day, or simply to prove that they could. And, as they grew in understanding of both ways of life, they grew in understanding of the world as a whole. These shared experiences, the shared adventures of muggle and muggle-born children in the hidden world, formed a bond that was truly unbreakable.

It was nearing midnight, but they did not worry. They were, after all, with each other, protected by the magic of the oldest, the witch. Their parents were aware enough of the girls powers to understand that, fourteen though they were, they were entirely safe from any of the usual threats. Their parents were also, unfortunately, ignorant enough of the other world as to be unaware of any additional dangers.

That is how three fourteen year old girls found themselves on a hill, in the middle of the woods, miles from any form of civilization, on the night of a full moon. Not that any of them didn't know the dangers of such a night, simply that, in true youthful style, they hadn't thought of it. Many powers of darkness, of night, are heightened by a full moon. It was truly ironic; that which was so insignificant to them this night, would, as price of their ignorance, take their lives.

Yet they were ignorant of good, as well as evil. They also hadn't realized that, this year, their first shared day of vacation was June the twenty-first, the summer solstice, the longest, and one of the most magical, days of the year. The day of the powers of earth, and the powers of a woman. Had they known, they would, perhaps, have realized the significance of the shared night of companionship. They might have done things differently, might have made the subtle binding ritual all the more powerful. They might have, but they also might have destroyed the power entirely.

It was no coincidence, that the silence was broken at midnight.

Broken by a lone howl.

Had they been found by an ordinary passer-by, they might have been taken to a hospital. Had they been found by the parents of any of the children, they would have been healed, and treated, and the answers and solutions found. Had they been lucky enough to be found by almost any witch or wizard, they might have made it to St. Mungo's soon enough to be not only healed, but kept from the curse. It would have been better had they been found, in fact, by anyone other than the disgruntled, werewolf-hating, head of the department for the regulation and control of magical creatures.

Unfortunately, said department head was, in fact, hoping for an instance very much like what had happened on that particular night. Unlike the teens, he knew the significance of the night; he had spent most of the evening searching for exactly what he found. There were a great many things true of a female wolf turned on the summer solstice, and all of them were to his benefit. The young man, of course, would only serve to keep his plans secure.

It was fortunate, indeed, that he had happened across them when he did. Any earlier, and he might have been forced to intervene before they were bitten; any later, and they would have been of little use. As it was, one of the girls would require rather costly potions in order to survive. There was no help for it; beast though she now was, he would have to waste his private stores. Oh, but she'd make it up to him. He smirked, then, drawing out an entirely legal portkey. The ministry had been content to turn a blind eye to his work, especially when it dealt with creatures such as these. And now, finally, he would make use of that blindness.

Hermione Granger woke to an ache worse than any she could ever remember. She tried to recall why her body would be a head-to-toe mass of misery, but couldn't remember anything specific. She'd been out stargazing, with Mark and Ambell, as they did every year. They'd been talking about their plans for after school, dreaming; both supporting and laughing as the others shared incredible hopes and wishes. She remembered hearing something, and then… she was here. Wherever here was.

It was cold, that was certain. Perhaps they'd fallen asleep outside? No, that didn't feel like ground beneath her, and she felt very…closed in. Like at Hogwarts, when the curtains were drawn around her four-poster. Yet the surface beneath her was no bed. Suddenly, it hit her. What if they were captured by death eaters? Her eyes flew open, and she bolted upright. Only to find a sight much like the one she was dreading; bars. A cell. Her friends, crumpled to the ground beside her, bloody and badly injured.

Only they didn't look beaten, and those were no marks of calculated torture. The ceiling in the room was too low, and the room too small, even for a cell; it was far more like a cage. The walls were solid cement block, the only bit with bars being straight in front of her. The room was barely large enough for all three to be lying down, the ceiling no more than four feet. They clothes were coated in blood, yes, but also in dirt; their clothes were torn, and covered in … slashes. Claw marks. Bite marks. From something downright huge. But what could have - ?

And then, it hit her. She remembered. The sound, the howl. Looking up to see the full moon floating above. The moments of panic, of running. Fumbling for her wand. The screams of her friends, as they fell. Her own screams, mingled with the horrid tearing sounds, and searing pain. The monster; the horrible, hideous, frightening beast – that she now was, as well. Because she failed, failed to realize the significance of the night, failed to be prepared with spell and wand.

And her friends – they were condemned to this hell with her, for her mistakes.

But then there was a sound, and she turned back towards the door. She caught sight of a man, before there was a blue light, and she knew no more.

When Hermione woke again, it was to a felling oddly similar the previous one. She no longer felt an acute pain, but ached unbelievably. A coppery taste was settled in her mouth, but she couldn't find a spot on her tongue or cheek where she might have bitten.

She didn't believe she'd ever felt dirtier. It was as though she'd bathed in the dirt, and left it to sit for a week. She couldn't find the strength to move. Oddly, something was both compelling her and restraining her from doing so. Deciding to get the worst of it over as quickly as possible, she opened her eyes.

And promptly clamped them shut.

"No." She whispered, the sound explosive in her ears. "Nonononono. It simply is not possible. I'm dreaming. This is a nightmare. There is absolutely no way. No." Shaking violently, she slowly opened her eyes again. The scene had not changed.

Right in front of her, not a foot from her face, was the body of one of her best friends. Coated in more blood than she had ever imagined one person to hold, flesh torn, and frighteningly still. She focused on Ambell a moment, briefly taking in the healed scars from the wolf, and the fresh wounds. They must have been unconscious a month, and this must be the remnants of a first transformation. Hermione's breath caught as she saw a tiny motion. Ambell was breathing, she was still alive.

She breathed a sigh of relief, and turned to look for Mark.

She felt sick. Violently ill.

Body wasn't even the right word for it. She was only barely certain it was Mark. He was torn, mutilated; shreds of clinging flesh were all that remained. White bone showed through in many places, some bits even looking gnawed. It was obvious that something had eaten away at both flesh and muscle. She suddenly realized that it was his blood she'd tasted on her tongue.

Nausea only gave way to her tortured screams.

It might have been moments, or hours, or days later. Someone came, and she caught the movement in the corner of her eye.

The blue light returned, and took her to darkness.

The next time she felt consciousness returning, she refused to open her eyes. There was no way she would seek out a new terror. Really, she was amazed she was still sane at all. Then again, how would she know if she were?

"He- Hermione?" A voice spoke tentatively. Ambell.

She knew she had to respond, but she was so afraid. At least, this time, Ambell was awake, and well enough to speak. "I'm here, Ambell." She returned, and cautiously, against her better judgment, opened her eyes.

She breathed a sigh of relief. No scene of nightmares met her eyes. Only the cage, and Ambell, who was carefully studying her, curled against the opposite wall. There were no obvious signs of blood, nothing to give hint of what had taken place. Ambell's clothes looked horrible, but she appeared to have been washed, at least somewhat. Actually, it seemed very much like someone had carelessly taken a hose to both room and girl. Hermione's own feelings of deep-down-dirt seemed to confirm the suspicion.

Hermione took careful stock of the situation. There was no way of knowing how long they'd been there, but it was at least a month. Lord only knew where "here" was, or who even knew they were missing. Hermione still hadn't ruled out the possibility of death eaters.

Yet many things didn't add up. Firstly, if they were death eaters, why hadn't there been interrogations? Threats? Torture? And even if they were death eaters, it didn't explain why Mark had died, or why she felt so oddly… un-wolf-ish. Hermione'd read about werewolves, many times, and she knew/knew/ what should have gone on in a first transformation. If anything, it should have been her and Ambell that died; females rarely survived a first transformation. And she should /feel/ the wolf, the change. Her senses should be heightened, at the very least. Yet she couldn't even smell the remainder of the blood.

It appeared there had been a fight between the three during the first transformation, but that didn't make sense either. They ought to have viewed each other as a pack, and had little more than a brief scuffle for dominance. And, had there been a fight, Mark should have won. Male werewolves were always, by far, stronger and more dominant than females. Even two-against-one, he should have held his own. And it appeared he'd been in human form when they… when they ate him.

She felt the nausea rising again, but firmly pushed it down. This was not the time for that. She had to figure out what was going on, and, more importantly, why. The visions attempted to overpower her, but she shoved them aside, sealing them behind a door in her mind.

Almost as though in answer to her question, the movement came at the door again, this time without the blue glow of the sleeping spell. A face appeared that Hermione might have found congenial, were it not for the evil glint in the eyes. Something in her screamed that she should run, and the feeling of being trapped became acute.

"Hullo, my pets. I see you've had a bath, since I saw you last. Yes, yes, much better than before. You made quite the mess when you killed your friend."

Ambell whimpered. Hermione refused to acknowledge his words at all, staring at him unblinking.

"You are mine, now. You will make me a great deal of money, in three years' time. Don't worry, I will send you back to your lives very, very soon. For the next three years, you may do as you please, providing one thing; you cannot tell anyone what you are, or that you are mine."

Hermione couldn't help herself, she made a noise of contempt. Like they would really go happily back to their lives, and keep quiet that some madman had captured them, and planned on using them for some freakish scheme. Like she would come back in three years; or, really, ever, should he let her go. But she hoped he was stupid enough to believe it. She would deal with what she was later; right now, she just wanted to get Ambell out of here, before she, too, died.

He appeared to understand Hermione's contempt. "No? You think you are not mine, little wolf?" He grinned sadistically "Do you know the penalty for a werewolf that kills? It's not death, little wolf. No, that would be far too kind. It's the Dementor's kiss. And I will make sure that both of you get it, for killing your little friend, should either of you disobey me."

Ambell, apparently, remembered what that meant. The prospect of losing her soul, on top of everything else, was apparently too much for her, and she broke into sobs. Hermione moved to comfort her, but Ambell flinched away from the touch, fleeing to the corner of the cage, and huddling in on herself.

Hermione swallowed. Yup, the bastard had her. Maybe, if it was only herself, she would take the risk. She could, perhaps, have escaped; Harry and Dumbledore would surely have protected her. But Ambell, in the muggle world – for this man would surely know better than to let Ambell flee with Hermione into the wizarding world – would be entirely vulnerable to a Dementor attack. But, surely, this man didn't think they could get away with this absence from their worlds being unnoticed.

How did he think she could hide it? When she got back, she'd still be a werewolf. Someone was bound to notice. All it would take is three seconds around Lupin; he'd smell the wolf in her, and the secret would be revealed.

"You don't really think that no-one will figure it out." Hermione said, condescendingly, "We must've been gone at least a month and a half. And how will we explain the fur, and the fangs, every month, without letting on what we are?"

"Your parents' memories have been adjusted. They believe you to be on an academic trip, together; they think you are coming home this week, early, because your friend died in a tragic accident. Any changes in mood will be attributed to his death."

"And the wolf?"

"You won't be turning. Not for the next three years, little wolf. The wolf will be so dormant, that not even another werewolf will be able to tell what you are."

"That's foolishness. It's impossible for a werewolf not to transform on a full moon." Hermione responded.

"Is that so, little wolf?" The tone in his voice frightened Hermione, but she refused to cower from him. She couldn't find her voice, but she nodded.

"Well, then, there is much for you to learn. I suppose you do not even know why you killed your little friend. Do you wish to know what happened? Do you wish to know why? I would tell you, but I think it would be more fun to let you read it for yourselves. After all, if I told you, you might just not believe me." With an ugly smile, the man tossed a thick tome in through the bars. "See you later, my little wolf."

With that, he turned and walked away. Slowly, his footsteps faded. Hermione wasn't sure whether to cry or to scream; things were so far beyond anything she knew how to handle. She'd seen more since June's full moon than she'd hoped ever to see in her life, even with the war on.

Hermione refused to let the situation beat her. Determination flashed in her eyes, and she balled her fists. She pulled the cloth of her untorn right sleeve over her hand, and scrubbed the tears from her face. She looked up. Ambell was watching her, from her position in the corner. She'd stopped crying, but the tear-tracks through the blood and dirt on her face still gave evidence to her pain.

Hermione crawled over to her companion. She reached out a hand, slowly, and Muriel nodded. Softly, Hermione rested her hand on her friends' shoulder. She gathered her courage, and spoke softly, but firmly "I won't say it will all be okay, Bell, because I don't really think it can be. But I'm still here, and I'm not going anywhere just now. And… I'm going to read the book that beast left for us, but… just, whatever it says, that doesn't mean it's the only answer." Hermione wasn't sure she made any sense, even to herself, but she could see the comfort her friend took in her words.

Muriel copied Hermione's actions, scrubbing her face free of tears if not of dirt, and placed her hand, also, on Hermione's shoulder. They sat like that for a moment, just letting the other know that they were, well, not alright, but together, at least. Hermione forced a half-smile, and drew back. Not willing to stand, only to have to crouch, Hermione crawled over to retrieve the book. She returned to her friends' side, leaning against the back wall of the cell.

The issuing of a challenge: Hermione's Challenge.

It has always been my opinion that, powerful as I'm sure Harry is, the Dark Lord is lucky that it was Harry, and not Hermione, that prophecy chose. Were I a Dark Lord tempted to re-appear in the world, and should I discover Hermione as my adversary, I would flee, tail between my legs, and pray that she never take pity on whatever other country I went and decided to take over.

That said, here's the challenge.

Hermione is truly the future-savior of the wizarding world

This must, in one way or another, correspond with the prophecy. Ideas (though these are not your only options): Hermione is adopted, was actually born in July, the 'mark' is something that more obviously marks her 'voldemort's equal' (since when is a ligtening bolt was a mark of equality?) etc.; Hermione is actually 'the power' bit of 'the power the dark lord knows not'; Hermione and Harry were actually switched at birth, for Herm's safety, and no-one knew except their parents; any other method of making the prophecy accurate is encouraged.

Her destiny should be discovered in an appropriately horrifying way. (no "oops, we forgot to tell ya: you gotta save us all.") There should be a good reason why she didn't know sooner.

And then, at least one of the following must happen. All of them together would be fun, though.

Hermione must be required to form some sort of exceptionally strong magical bond with another main character(s) of your choice. Reason is up to you (suggestion, just to get you thinking: it's required in order to ground exceptional amount of magic that has been bound since her birth), but bond can be anything from the expected to something you create on your own.

At least one main-ish character must die, and at least one person assumed dead must actually not be (ex. Lily, random Founder, Merlin, Sirius).

Hermione re-discovers elemental powers. This plotline should involve the seeking out of other elementals, and the forming of some sort of elemental group. Up to you whether each person controls a single element, or a group of them, and whether Hermione has an element herself, or is simply the reason others discover


	2. Pacing

Chapter 2

It had been almost three years, now. It was the last day of sixth year, the last few hours at Hogwarts before she was tucked into a train-compartment-full of friends, on their way home. She had gotten a letter, just yesterday; in a month, she would be due at the Ministry office. To comply with the terms of her agreement, the letter said. To fulfill the duties of her enslavement, the letter meant.

For, as the bite had made her slave to the moon, the curse had made her slave to a balding ministry official. The Bastard, as she and Ambell had taken to calling the corrupt idiot who'd "rescued" them, had left the book on werewolves with the girls for two full days. They had begun reading straight away, but found mostly only frustration; the author danced around for a dozen chapters of poetic script before finally coming out and explaining anything. Once he'd really _begun _on his topic, however, he'd done so with gusto, packing all the information needed into the five remaining chapters. According to the book, a she-wolf, bitten and turned on _any_ full moon occurring in June, held "Powers born of moon and summer; strength and weakness of wolf and woman". In plain English, as they sorted out from that and other bits of over-zealous description, they were super-wolves, but also unique. They had a chance at control over the wolf.

Should either of them, once transformed, encounter a male wolf, in wolf form, there were two possible outcomes. If she bested him, as Hermione and Ambell had bested Mark, she would be free of the curse for three years' time. If, however, the he-wolf bested her, he would gain three things: control over the wolf (both his and her own), her as a mate, and legal /ownership/ of her. While the first two were reactions of the wolf, the third, the ownership, was due mostly to a ministry statute that had never been protested. It also held significance, in that a werewolf could not own anything in the wizarding world; it was a testament that /he/ was officially re-instated as a full member of wizarding society. /He/ would no longer, at least in the ministry's eyes, truly be a werewolf.

Unfortunately for her, in the event a he-wolf beat her, she was likely to become entirely subservient. She would be bonded to him, able to feel, to a degree, what he felt. Her entire nature would become devoted to pleasing him. The severity of the change would depend on how easily he won the battle for dominance. If he won quickly, she would lose all resemblance to her former self, becoming whatever he wished for. Fortunately, this was unlikely. Since they had been turned on a solstice, not merely in June, they were more powerful than they would otherwise have been. Of almost unlimited power, actually. There was virtually no chance that anyone, ever, would best her or Ambell.

Which was almost a shame. It would be worth becoming a mindless automaton, to be free of the curse. There were also… other benefits to consider. Mated werewolves were practically immortal, compared to their unmated counterparts. They lived for hundreds of years, the longest being nearly a thousand. The mating of a June-turned she-wolf, for werewolves, was like an anti-curse; it turned nearly all the disadvantages of the curse into advantages.

In the end, after reading the book, it had been ridiculously obvious, what the too-soon-balding ministry official had wanted of the two girls. They knew, as he had told them, that he would hold Mark's death over their heads, to force them to comply. That he would, if given half a chance, turn them over to the Dementors, having full ministry backing as he did so. Smart as the two girls were, they quickly worked out what he was likely to want of them. He would keep their secret; let them live their lives, in exchange for their appearance at the full moon of every third year. He would sell, to the highest bidders among many desperate werewolves, the right to spend the moon with one of the girls. It was a chance to end the curse, to lead a normal life, and many would give up whatever they had, and whatever they could get, just for that chance. And every time, without fail, they would destroy whomever attempted it.

It was nearly ingenious. It could make him almost unimaginably rich. It would, at the least, give him a chance to kill off a good number of werewolves. And those men would walk willingly to their deaths.

He had expected the girls to be shocked, afraid, demoralized when he told them his demands, in exchange for his silence. When he had come back to discuss "terms" with them, he had found them quite composed. In fact, he had found the two girls, heads together, noses in the werewolf book, carefully contemplating what demands they would make. They had torn a blank page from the back of the book, and were writing out a list, parchment between them. After all, not even the threat of being soulless was enough to make them entirely give up their lives.

They knew there were limits, though. They were hardly in a position to demand the world. They had gotten his silence, for one. They'd also gotten a binding, magical contract, which would immediately alert the media and the ministry, magically, should he give away the girls' secret or make any demands on their lives outside of the once-every-three-years obligation. He had included a clause, unfortunately, that would alert him immediately should they ever mention anything to do with him or their condition to anyone at all, or intentionally allowed the information to be found out. The girls had then also required that arrangements would be made discreetly enough that no-one would suspect where they went. Their parents, friends, families, anyone who asked would be informed that the girls had been selected for a giveaway, and were away on a free trip.

The Bastard had expected to have to force the girls to return every three years, and had been surprised enough to acquiesce to their demands. The girls had, apparently, read the book more carefully than he had. The second last chapter was devoted entirely to she-wolves born of summer solstices. "Powerful" was a kind way of putting it. If they weren't occupied with the kill-or-be-enslaved ritual on that third years' full moon, there was no cage, no bar in the world that would hold them. They would tear through everything in their path until they found another he-wolf, taking out frustration on every living thing by completely destroying it. Not even animals would be safe. Only death and destruction would be left in their wake.

The two girls refused to allow that. They had vowed, by the time they'd read to the end of that chapter, never to let that happen. At first, when they realized what The Bastard wanted, that he intended to provide them with willing victims, they had been disgusted, however unwilling to fight their captor. But then, they realized the benefit of such a situation. The responsibility, the guilt, would be his, if they agreed to go along with it. The Bastard would get his money, kill off some werewolves, and they would keep from maiming the population of a small town. It was a solution, after all, however crude. It was the price of three years' freedom.

They had talked, then, about trying to really find a mate. The book said it was possible, technically, and that the mate-wolf didn't necessarily have to be physically stronger. It offered an example of a highly unlikely situation involving the "finding" of one's "true" mate, and an ancient bit of ritual blood-magic. According to the solstice chapter, the she-wolf, under those circumstances, could be easily subdued by her "true" mate. Unfortunately, it didn't give any suggestions on how one would know who that was, and the girls had no idea how they would find such a thing out. It also suggested that if the he-wolf was simply mentally stronger, it was possible for him to win. That particular suggestion was comfort to neither Ambell, the mathematical genius, nor Hermione, who'd scored the highest OWL's in a century.

The book ended that chapter with several pages of detailed illustrations. They carefully depicted the aftermath from solstice-born she-wolves who changed away from any other werewolves. Once they'd swallowed down the bile that rose in reaction to such images, the two girls swore to spend the week leading up to each dangerous moonrise together. They also swore that they would never allow that to happen; that if worst came to worst, they would ensure the other died before moonrise.

If she could have managed not to feel horrible for those werewolves who would come to her, trying to rid themselves of the curse, she could've said that what The Bastard had offered them was almost a good thing. After all, they could live the rest of their time free from the curse. As part of the terms of the agreement, Hermione and Ambell had even managed to ensure that they would never again have to see what was left. That they would never again witness the aftermath of the moon, as Hermione'd had to with Mark. Yet, no matter what happened, Hermione knew it would haunt her. The faces, surely, would haunt her, as Mark's had these last three years.

Yet the problem, just now, lay not in this. The problem was that the Order had decided she needed to spend the summer at Headquarters, and she was currently in possession of a letter to that effect. They expected her to spend the summer "protected", tucked away in the room she'd shared with Ginny last summer. Which might have been good, and fun, and enjoyable; the time spent in HQ had been all of those last year. Even if it had been a simple matter of having to leave in four weeks, or three to meet Ambell, it would have worked.

Except that, as the third year since Mark came to a close, she could feel the wolf resurfacing. Her scent was changing. She had learned, from "the book", ways to mask it in every-day situations. She supposed she had enough skill, by now, to walk through a crowd of inattentive werewolves, and have them think her fully human. But she wouldn't be stuck with unfocused idiots, or wandering about in a crowd where the scent could be assumed to come from someone else. Remus Lupin was far from stupid, and he would be the only other one at Headquarters. For nearly a whole summer.

He would know. She could hide the smell of the wolf. But the wolf within her was only nearing three years old, and Professor Lupin had been a werewolf for nearly all his life. She sincerely doubted it would take him long to figure it out. The wolf within her professor would hardly allow him to fall for the tricks of a pup. Even bar that, she knew her former professor was a talented Legillimens. Remus would know.

And he wouldn't let it go.

And then…

And then everything would fall apart.

He would be shocked. Of that, she was certain. Beyond that, she didn't suppose she knew him well enough to presume his reaction. It would be mild-mannered, she was sure. She couldn't imagine any sort of outburst of the man, not when he had faced even his best friends' murderer calmly, back in third year. He would give a reprimand for not telling anyone sooner, perhaps, and that would be nearly all. Except that then he would proceed to inform those who he felt needed to know.

First to find out would be the order. They would watch her, they would pity her. They would search and research, telling her she certainly hadn't thought of everything. They would try to find a way to keep her from the fight, but also from killing herself. They would certainly protect her from the man from the ministry, and might, perhaps, save Ambell as well. But they wouldn't, then, be content to let her die in peace, as she very much wished.

They would force her to hope, to believe. And then they would tell her friends.

Ron would be furious. Hermione doubted he'd go near her, at all. Harry would be hurt so badly, by not only her own pain, but by what he would perceive a lack of trust. They would likely avoid her, whether in anger or revulsion or pain, and only speak to her again just before the end. For she, once the Order knew, would have little option but to take her life. They'd never let her be "used" by the ministry. And, honestly, if Ambell was either protected by the Order or already worse-than-dead, she'd choose death over harming another, leaving another like Mark.

Hermione paused. Except that Harry and Ron would know her well enough to expect that. And, she knew, just as they had been told of her secret, Hermione's two best friends would be told of the only "cure". Hermione shuddered. She could almost hear them, trying to talk Lupin into it. And the man was so reserved, so gentle of spirit, that Hermione knew exactly what the outcome of that would be. No, she wouldn't let that happen. Not to her, not to her friends, and not to Professor Lupin.

It was one thing to consider a nameless werewolf in Mark's place, to have no face to associate with the body that would be left behind, but to do that to someone she /knew/. She would end up living, every day, with his face haunting her dreams, alongside Mark's. Only to be forced, three years later, to deal with this yet again. No. Whatever the cost, she would not be the cause of Remus' death.

It had to be prevented, she had to prevent it, at all costs. Any and all costs. She had to get out of here, and get out now. The speed of her pacing increased. She was nearly frantic. Her wolf was surfacing, as it hadn't since three years ago, screaming at finding itself in another cage.

She was pacing ridiculously fast, now, and she knew it. She had to find the answer, there had to be an answer. She was no longer the thirteen year old, locked in a cage, bitten and frightened by the changes. There was something, something obvious, and she was overlooking it. She could /feel/ it. Something, hidden in her line of reasoning, that was so obvious…

The order. Ambell. What had it been? It had to be, it was something… something with… Headquarters… Remus… Ambell…

"That's it! Oh, but it's so obvious!" Hermione exclaimed. "All I have to do, is tell the Order that I'll only stay if I can bring her with me. She'd have been in as much danger as I would have, anyways, being my best friend. I'll tell them I think it inappropriate to stay for the whole summer with just my professor. And it's not like they can be afraid she'll give away the location. The fidelus charm would prevent it."

There was no way Hermione could have put Ambell under Order protection without being sent to Grimauld place, as it would have required someone be informed of the reason. And any word about what she was, or why she needed protection, would have activated the secrecy clause in the magical contract. This way, there wouldn't be time enough for The Bastard to act before Ambell would be safely tucked away; he would have no way of knowing that the Order had dropped by to pick her up until it was too late. The situation wasn't entirely positive, though, as it was also the blood red signature to Hermione's own death warrant.

Lupin would sacrifice himself, she was sure, for the girls' sake. But if he were to have any chance at survival, Hermione would have to be… somewhere else. Ambell didn't know Lupin, wouldn't be haunted the way Hermione would be by his death. And Ambell was, by far, the less aggressive of the two girls. Both their personalities had shifted, just a bit, since the change, and Hermione was, most definitely, the Alpha of their little "pack". Perhaps, just perhaps, Lupin could best Ambell (though the margin would surely be small, but then – all the better if he only just barely beat her), and they would live, together, for the next several hundred years. Free from the curse. Hermione smiled. It was almost like a fairytale.

She swore to herself, then and there, that she would see her plan succeed.

And she would go to her death quietly, filled with those visions of her friends; of Ambell happy again, and Remus finally free of the curse. It would be enough. Just that chance, that hope, would be far more than she had dared hope, these last years.

It was time to see Dumbledore.


	3. Breech of Contract

A/N: Here's another, for you. I've got one more waiting for beta, but then I'll likely switch back to WAPS for a bit.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Chapter 3

"Miss Granger, is there something you aren't telling me?"

Hermione hesitated. If she said yes, would it be a violation of the contract? The terms had been "anything that causes the secret to be revealed", and telling Dumbledore that you weren't telling him something was as good as telling him the secret itself. But, at the same time, saying "no" would surely be just as likely to inform him that she had a secret.

"I see." Dumbledore responded. Apparently, she'd waited too long to answer. Which was just fine, because /that/, at least, had been unintentional.

Hermione had been in Dumbledore's office nearly half an hour, now, trying to get him to allow Ambell into headquarters for the summer. He had been remarkably reluctant about it, dismissing most of Hermione's "concerns" in short order. But it must have been a tip-off when Hermione refused to take the council of an authority figure, and he'd apparently caught more than Hermione had hoped. She had to be very, very careful now, or Ambell would be worse than dead before Hermione could even explain.

Hermione studied her hands, searching desperately for another argument. "Professor, I -"

"Enough, miss Granger. It is obvious there is something I do not know, and I suspect you are not at liberty to tell me." He stared straight at her, but she refused to meet his eyes and risk being legillimized. "I trust your judgment. I must make you aware, however, that I will require an explanation this evening -"

Hermione's breath caught in her throat, and she tried to give voice to a protest.

"-at Headquarters. With your friend in attendance." He finished.

Hermione let out her breath carefully, controlling her features to keep from giving anything away. She couldn't risk it now, not when she was so close to having Ambell safe for good.

"Thank you, professor. I'm sure I will enjoy my summer much more with company." Was all Hermione said.

She looked at the Headmaster, careful not to make direct eye contact. He was frowning. "Of course, Miss Granger. Miss Tonks is presently waiting outside; I must speak with her for a moment, but then I will send her with you to collect your friend, if that is amenable to you."

"Very much so, headmaster, and thank you, again."

Dumbledore studied her. "Very well. If you would wait for her at the bottom of the staircase? This should only take a minute."

Hermione nodded once to the Headmaster, and turned to leave. Hermione offered Tonks a weak smile of greeting on her way out. She descended the staircase slowly, hoping to catch some of the conversation, but couldn't hear a thing. She waited at the bottom, and was just contemplating another round of pacing when Tonks emerged.

"Hey, Hermione. Ready?"

Actually, Hermione wasn't a bit ready. She was scared spitless that they'd arrive, only to discover Ambell already soul-less from Hermione's plotting. She suppressed a shiver. "Yes, let's go."

"We're using the main floo, c'mon, it's this way." Tonks set off in the opposite direction from the great hall. It only took about a minute before they came upon a massive fireplace, set into the stone wall.

"This used to be the main method of travel to and from Hogwarts. They shut it down shortly into the first war, I've been told. Now it's only open when the Headmaster specifically approves it. We've got about two minutes to get out of here. Don't worry about your stuff; someone will bring it by later. It is all packed, right?"

"Yeah, it's on my bed in the dorm." Hermione answered, taking some floo powder from Tonks.

"We'll be flooing to a place off Eighth Street, is that close enough?" Tonks asked.

"Ambell's parent's place is on Fourteenth, but it shouldn't be too much of a walk."

"You sure /she'll/ be alright with this? And her parents?" Tonks questioned.

"We were going to be leaving for a trip in about three weeks, anyways. We'll just tell her parents we're going early. They'll be disappointed, but they'll be okay with it." Hermione said, hoping she was right. She knew Ambell would be alright with it, she just wasn't certain about her folks.

As it turned out, Hermione needn't have worried. She and Tonks were both red-faced and out of breath by the time they reached the apartment complex. Tonks, the more in-shape of the two, buzzed the apartment. Hermione was nearly bashed in the face as a tear-stained, stricken looking Ambell came flying out the front door. Worried, Hermione wrapped her friend in an embrace, murmuring shushing words, watching carefully around for any sign of The Bastard or his cronies.

Satisfied that no-one in the immediate vicinity was from the ministry (other than Tonks) Hermione questioned her friend "What is it? What's happened?" and then, in an undertone "is it /Him/?"

"No, no, Hermione. Nothing like that. It's just, it's my parents. They're… oh, Hermione, they're splitting up. The just had a humungous row. They're taking time apart, this summer, wanting a break, and are demanding I choose who to go with. And I can't. Hermione, I can't choose. I don't want to be with either, not when they're like this."

Hermione couldn't believe her luck. It was the perfect excuse. "How about this, then, Ambell. Come with me, and we'll just take our vacation a bit early."

Ambell looked past Hermione, focusing on Tonks, clearly worried that the secret had been told. Hermione caught her eye, and shook her head a tiny bit. No, she signaled, Tonks doesn't know. "Lets go tell your parents. I'm sure they'll agree. And then we can help you pack."

Ambell gave a watery smile. "I'm packed already. Mum's actually out, finding a new place. They packed all my stuff up, while I was off at school. I came home to find everything in boxes."

"It'll be alright, Ambell, I promise." Hermione said, with a meaningful look at the other girl.

Ambell shot Hermione a slightly fearful look, her eyes flicking to Tonks again.

Tonks, dismissing the odd looks between the two girls as typical teenage oddity, decided it was time she be introduced. "I'm Tonks. I'm here to escort the two of you to, er, the place you'll going." She said with a grin, holding out a hand to shake.

Ambell took it. "Ambell Marshall. I'm sorry you had to meet me like this." She said, scrubbing away tears with her free hand. "I'm not normally so emotional." Hermione gave a bit of a snort, which she attempted to cover up with a cough. Ambell glared at her, playfully.

"We should get upstairs and get my stuff. There's a lot of it, though." Ambell said, looking at the other two girls, doubtfully.

"It won't be a problem." Hermione said. "That's the other reason Tonks is here."

Ambell understood immediately, and grinned. She was dragging the other two up the stairs to her parent's place before they even noticed they'd gone through the door. "Oooh, I can't wait to see some" she dropped her voice "magic. You never get to use any on holidays, and I've always wanted to see, you know?"

Tonks regarded Hermione oddly "Just how much have you told your friend, Hermione?"

"Enough." Hermione said, flippantly, as the reached the top of the steps.

Ambell pushed open the door to a rather decent sized flat. "Mum, Dad" she yelled. "I'm –"

"You don't have to shout, Bell." Ambell's dad said, coming from the kitchen. "Hello, Hermione dear. I'm sure Bell's told you what's going on." He said, sadly.

Hermione gave him a half-smile. "Yeah, Mr. Marshall." She took a deep breath "I was, actually, wondering if you'd let her stay with me for the summer. I have to be someplace for school, for the summer, and I've been allowed to take a guest. She said she doesn't feel ready to choose, yet, and I'd love to have her with me."

Ambell's father smiled again, more warmly. "That's our Bell, never wants to hurt anyone's feelings. Yes, to both of you. Although, I assume this has something to do with the war?"

Tonks was regarding Hermione with more than a little suspicion. "Just how many people did you tell, Hermione?"

"Actually, she didn't" Mr. Marshall said. "Her parents were the ones who told us."

Tonks looked skeptical at that, but answered "Well, yes, it does have to do with the war."

"It's fine, then. But you girls stay safe. I'll assume you're safer wherever they're keeping you than you are here, but I want you to be extra careful. No risks, girls. And do call when you can."

Ambell smiled, and went to hug her father "Thanks, Da, it means a lot to me."

He smiled in return. "I know, Bell, I know."

Ten minutes, and a few waves of Tonks' wand, later, they were ready to go, all of Ambell's possessions tucked into a duffel bag, with room to spare. Ambell's eyes had sparkled at the magic, though the spell to lighten the bag had been blue, which caused her to flinch. Luckily, Tonks didn't notice. Hermione did, though, and reached out to give her friend's shoulder a comforting squeeze.

They waited a few more minutes for Ambell's mom, who, when she turned up, seemed almost relieved to discover that Ambell would be with Hermione for the summer. She'd apparently only been able to find a one-room flat, and had been worried about who Ambell would choose to live with. She hugged both the girls, shook hands with Tonks, and that was that.

Once outside again, Tonks led them into an alleyway, and checked for passers-by. Satisfied the coast was clear, she summoned the Knight Bus. Ambell gasped and giggled at the sight of the triple-decker, violently purple bus, and Hermione watched her friend in bemusement. It was good to see that Ambell's horrible experience with the werewolf bite hadn't clouded her entire perception of the wizarding world. Hermione couldn't help but be excited, herself. She was pulling it off, they were finally going to be free.

Hermione's thoughts turned to the more pressing matter of her meeting with Dumbledore. This evening, she'd be explaining everything to the Headmaster, and perhaps to some members of the Order, as well. She wasn't sure if she was happy or sad about it. It would be nice to no longer have to lie, true, but she wasn't certain how well she would take everyone's reactions. At least, this way, they were finding out honestly, and not by Remus discovering her.

Remus was another matter. She expected she would have to tell her story at least twice, as he would know the second the girls arrived in Grimauld Place. Whatever skill Hermione might have had at masking the wolf, Ambell lacked even that. Hermione couldn't think of any way to explain that her best friend was a werewolf without telling the entire story. It would be an interesting evening.

And before all that, she had to explain everything to Ambell. Hopefully, she'd get a chance to talk to the other girl, alone, before Remus confronted them. She didn't fancy the idea of having those two conversations simultaneously. 'Yes, Remus, we're werewolves, sorry I didn't say before; no Ambell, I meant to tell him, and the madman won't be here in five minutes to suck out our souls.' Hermione snorted. Tonks gave her a questioning look, but Ambell seemed to know what was on her mind, and raised an eyebrow.

Hermione was trying to decide how to respond, when she heard Stan calling the name of the street off Grimauld where they were headed. Grateful for the interruption, she stood, almost toppling forward as the bus came to an abrupt halt. Fortunately, Ambell was as graceful as Tonks was klutzy, and easily saved Hermione from landing on her rear. She smiled at Hermione, and whispered "Least I could do, if you're right. Though I can't see how - "

"Don't say it yet" Hermione cut her off, wary of breaking the contract before they reached the safety of Number Twelve. But then she grinned. "I'm right. There's a lot to tell, though."

The second their feet hit pavement, the bus was speeding off behind them. Ambell grinned at it fondly, before turning to her companions. "Right, where to now?"

Tonks led the way, down the street and around the corner, before handing Ambell a scrap of parchment. Ambell, having been told about fidelus spells by Hermione, and being academic enough in nature to retain the information, caught on after only a moment. She did manage to look thoroughly surprised as the house appeared, though.

"Man, that's cool." Ambell muttered, as Tonks burned the bit of paper. Hermione grinned at her, and led the way to the door.

It was nicer inside than the last time Hermione'd been there. Not nice, exactly, as it still looked old, and a bit worn. But it looked more lived in, and the dark feeling had faded. There were still snakes on lots of things, but they looked more like the decorations of someone obsessed with serpents than dark trophies, as they'd seemed before. Everything seemed freshly painted; the smell, while somewhat musty, was much /cleaner/ than it had been previously.

The portrait was still there, or at least the curtains were, so she motioned Ambell for silence, and crept past and up the stairs. Tonks whispered that she was going to find Remus. Hermione nodded, but tugged Ambell to follow her, quickly. She had a lot to explain before Remus got there.

She ducked into the second door on the left, her old room, and shut the door behind her. "Toss your bag on the bed. We'll worry about unpacking later, I've got a lot to tell you in very little time."

"Like how it's going to be better, perhaps? And what's the hurry?" Ambell said.

"Hush. There's too much to be said. The fellow she's going to get is a werewolf."

Bell stiffened. "He'll know –"

"Exactly. Look, we're going to break the contract."

Bell muffled a squeak "You – you can't… we'll NO, Hermione, NO –"

"Shush." Bell quieted at the direct command. "I didn't have another choice, they were bringing me here anyways; he would have known. And at least this way you're safe."

"How can I possibly be…? He'll find -"

"No, he won't. You're safe, here." Hermione began pacing, as she explained the protections on the house.

Remus could be here any second, and she doubted it would take him more than a minute to know /exactly/ what was going on. And she was still stuck on why they'd be safe. There was so much more to say, yet.

She was so lost in thought, she didn't even hear the door open.

"But what about the Moon, Hermione. I'll turn, and there will be no-one. We have to go to the ministry, you know that. You swore you wouldn't let me -"

"Didn't you hear what I was saying? There's another wolf, here. And he -"

"What is going on, here?" A deep voice interrupted her. "I'd like to think you weren't just discussing me." It was professor Lupin. He looked rather hurt. _He must think I was telling Bell what he was_, Hermione thought.

"Professor! I, er, that is, we…"

Lupin was looking at Ambell oddly "And what's this about /another/ wolf?"

Bell was regarding Lupin fearfully. "If you're going to break the contract, Hermione, now would prallie be a good time."

Hermione sighed. "I… Look, I don't really know how to go about saying this, professor."

"Your friend, here, is a werewolf." Lupin said, matter-of-factly. He cocked his head in dog-like fashion. "Is that why you told Dumbledore she had to come? Because you should have just told him that. He was thinking something far worse was going on." He smiled at Bell, and held out a hand. "Remus Lupin."

"Ambell Marshall." She said, weakly trying to match his smile. Hermione noticed that Bell's hands were shaking a bit, though.

Hermione's own hands were shaking, so she clasped them behind her back. "That isn't everything, professor."

Lupin turned his attention back to Hermione. Hermione took a step closer to her former Professor. Closing her eyes, she let go of the threads of magic keeping her from smelling of wolf. She heard a sharp intake of breath. Her whole body was shaking, now, teeth chattering together from nerves, and she had to open her eyes to keep herself standing. She looked at the floor, studying her shoes, watching Remus take a step nearer, and feeling herself shrink back.

A hand touched her arm, and she flinched. "Hermione. Look at me."

Hermione looked up tentatively, fearing rejection, even if she knew it wouldn't be there. "Why didn't you tell anyone, Hermione?"

"I'm afraid that not even that is everything, professor."

Lupin looked almost fearful. "What else, Hermione?"

"We're. That is, we've…" Hermione broke off, unable to say anything for a moment. She collected herself. There was no going back, not now.

"We were bitten the same night, Professor. It was almost three years ago, now." She took a deep breath to continue, but Remus interrupted.

"That's impossible, Hermione; I would have realized before now. I've been around you several times, and nearly half of last summer."

"We were bitten in June."

Remus' sharp intake of breath was her only answer.

"On the night of the solstice. We were taken, then, and put in a cell, in the ministry. We were kept unconscious for a month. When we woke up –" Hermione broke off, as Bell fled the room, slamming the door behind her.

Remus stayed silent, but she knew he was waiting for her to continue.

"When we woke up, our best friend, he was, well, he had been left. Left with us. On the moon. To die. From us. When I woke up, he –" Hermione's throat froze up. She cleared it several times, forcing herself not to cry.

"It's okay, Hermione. You don't have to talk about that, if you don't want to. I understand." Remus answered, sadly. Quietly. Hermione felt as if he were lending her strength.

A few moments later, she began again. "He, Mark, freed us from the curse for three years. The ministry official who found us, originally, held Mark's death over us. It would be a means of getting us the dementor's kiss, if we told of the Bas- of the official's plans; he could tell the ministry what we'd done, and no-one would object to such a punishment. In exchange for his silence, he wanted us to return once every three years. He sells us, the chance at being free, to the highest bidder. We get our once-per-three years victim out of it." Hermione realized she was staring at the floor, again.

She focused her gaze on her shoes as she said the last bit. "I know it's a lot to ask, but I'd like to leave Ambell in the care of the Order. I – I would like to hope that a cure, or a method of restraint, or a – a volunteer, can be found, for her. I-I'll be going back. He'll be mad enough, but perhaps he'll be alright with it, if I go back."

Remus made a soft sound, and his left hand came up to her chin, bringing her gaze to meet his, again.

"Why would you go back, Hermione? You have to know we'd offer the same protection to you."

"I know." She whispered. "But you can't find anyone I would let myself destroy again, not when I had to see their face, know who they were. You, the order, everyone; they would spend every waking minute, trying to find a cure, or a wolfsbane type solution." She paused, and added, so low that even Remus couldn't hear "And you wouldn't let me kill myself when no cure could be found." Hermione couldn't stop crying. He knew, knew everything; she was suddenly so overwhelmed by pain and horror and grief that she couldn't even see to watch his reaction.

She only knew that for one moment, she was standing there, fighting her tears, feeling utterly lost and alone. And the next, she was swept into a tight embrace.

"Oh, Hermione." Remus said, in a low murmur, "why didn't you tell anyone? It's okay," He said, pulling her close as though he were afraid someone would steal her away "it'll be okay; you're here, now, and I've got you, and no one will hurt you."

At this, Hermione began shaking harder, and then was shaking her head, back and forth, against Remus' shoulder. "But the Moon will still get me. I'm not safe. Never safe. And it hurts, it will always hurt, it will always hurt inside. Because I'm a beast, and no-one can understand, because even other wolves are human, so much more human, than I can ever be again. And it's so soon, it's going to happen so soon. You don't understand, I have to go back."

Remus pulled her tighter. "No, Hermione, it is safe. It will be okay, you don't have to go anywhere. You're safe." He was rubbing her back, soothingly "You don't have to go back."

Hermione was becoming hysterical, worried that they'd try to keep her here "But I have to; if I don't I'll kill; so, so many, and they'll kill; kill me, worse than kill, no, no, I have to go back…. No…You don't know, you don't understand. I've done, I've done horrible things. And I have to go back. And I have to do them again, or I have to, have to, have to… you just don't understand."

She started trying to fight Remus' grip on her, but the effort was entirely futile. It was like fighting steel; he wasn't even straining from the effort. "Sssshhhh, Hermione." He soothed "it's okay. Listen to me, Hermione. You don't even have to explain anything else. I know. It's been my assignment for the order, looking into the "werewolf cure" he was offering, we came across it on the underground, through Fletcher. Only I didn't know it was you, not until I walked in the door just now."

Hermione was getting hysterical "But then, but you can't know about, not about… you would hate me… You would have to. He- he was my friend, Remus. I n-never meant that. I didn't want… I hardly even had the time to, to find out what I-I was, and then I was waking up, and he was t-there, but he wasn't, and his b-body, his body, Remus. His face. I d-did, I w-was, i-it was m-me, ME, and it was so, so, s-so horrible, and he… and Mark…" Hermione dissolved into choked sobs.

Remus just held her, and let her cry. He stood there, holding her to him, letting her pour it all out. Wave after wave of tears came, as she recalled the times she'd had to lie, the nightmares. The waking nightmare of realizing the third year moon was coming. The fear of the moon, of the stars, of the night sky she'd used to love. She must have cried for hours, letting out every pain of three years of uncertainty, yet he didn't even shift.

After what could have been years as easily as anything else, her tears finally quieted. "I've made your shirt wet." She said. She couldn't think of anything better to say, and the silence had seemed to thickening into something tangible.

"It /will/ be okay, Hermione. If it comes to it, I'll" Remus paused, pushing her far enough away to look her in the eye, "I'll stay with you."


	4. Kill Me Softly

Disclaimer: Don't own HP.

Chapter 4

Hermione hadn't reacted well to Remus suggestion that he sacrifice himself for her sake. She'd been downright livid, actually. The conversation had ended with her screaming "I'll die before I let myself kill you. And what about Bella? If you're going to do this, do it for her, not for me. She wouldn't be haunted by your face, your eyes; by you, every moment of the rest of her life." After which she'd stormed out of the room, running until she found herself in the attic, not even caring if anything dangerous still resided there.

By the time she'd returned to the ground floor, not only had Dumbledore arrived, but an impromptu Order partial-meeting had been called. It was partial, as only about a fourth of the core members were able to attend. They'd decided to devote all available resources to finding a cure. Snape had been able to inform them that, since Ambell was muggle, they would be able to sedate her for the duration of the moon. He promised to attempt Wolfsbane alterations, but didn't think success a reasonable possibility, since there was so little time. He, of course, added in snide marks about having more warning, and what he could've done in three years' time.

As a back-up plan, Remus had re-stated his offer. Hermione had been unable to decline, at least not in the same fashion, in front of so many others. She didn't say yes, either, though.

That had been a full week ago. And it had been the longest week in Hermione's life, even including the first one she'd been conscious for, after being bitten. Then, at least, she'd been numb.

She'd been in here, hours, now, pacing. Contemplating the best way to kill herself, actually. Hermione felt it was Ambell's duty, according to their agreement. Bell, however, had declined, telling Hermione she was being selfish and foolish for throwing away the Remus' offer. The only thing Bella'd promised was that she wouldn't let anyone know of Hermione's intentions.

A knock at the door brought her from her morbid musings. "Hermione? I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but I heard you pacing and…" Remus' voice drifted off. He was staring at her, as though he'd never seen her before.

Hermione flinched. The emotions coming from her had to be strong enough, just then, to render Legillimency unnecessary to any werewolf with a nose.

"Hermione?" He questioned. "Why are you…?"

"Because I can't do it again. Because I'm not that strong. Because I absolutely refuse to wake up, again, and fuel my nightmares for three more years. Because -"

"Hermione…"

"-I refuse to let you be killed, by my hand, not when there's another alternative. Because my life ended three years ago, and I've only been living on borrowed time. And because you're so nice, so even-tempered, so much like Mark, and he –"

"…Hermione…"

"-died, just like you will, and I refuse to be responsible. I refuse, do you hear me? I would be worse than dead anyways, living with your-"

"Hermione."

"-death on my conscience. And I'd only have to do it again in three years. And then who would it be? Would it be someone else I know, someone else I care for? Or will they just pull some random bloke off the -"

"_Hermione_."

"-street, for me to kill. It's not worth it, not one bit, I tell you, for three years' borrowed time. I deserve to die, anyways, to die a thousand times over, after I killed Mark. It's only just that-"

"HERMIONE!" Remus shouted her name. She fell silent, immediately.

"I am not the pathetic whelp you seem to think I am. I make this choice of my own volition. You, also, must make a choice, and I can not tell you what to choose. If you accept or deny what I have suggested, it will be for reasons of your own; I will not accept anything else."

"For reasons of my own? Professor, what do you mean? I'm a killer, I deserve to die. But, you, you're not. And I certainly do not wish to see you-"

Remus spun, "ENOUGH!" he roared. His hands grasped her shoulders, and shoved her forcefully against the wall. "As full as you are of your own superiority, you haven't even given thought to what might happen if you did not manage to thoroughly best and kill me."

He stared her straight in the eyes. "Perhaps you are right, perhaps; that remains to be decided. I am not doing this because the order told me to, or because of affection I have for Harry, or for whatever other reason you have imagined. I am doing this because I do not wish for your death. I also happen to think there is at least some chance of my survival."

"Professor, you've read the statistics, you know-"

"If you will let me finish." Remus ground out. "Should I survive this ordeal, it will mean a great many things in my life will change, very much for the better. You may choose to see this as risking my life for your own, and that is indeed a part of it. But do not think my motivations entirely pure and selfless. I am more than willing to risk my life solely for a chance to end this curse; I would take this risk for that chance alone."

He continued, more quietly. "If you have so soon forgotten, it is a chance that many others were willing to pay thousands upon thousands of galleons, everything they had, just to take."

Hermione stood, thinking, in silence; for once in her life finding herself speechless. The silence stretched, but it was not entirely uncomfortable. The determined stance and commanding mannerisms of the man before her were very much unlike the 'tranquil professor' Hermione had been accustomed to. Slowly, Hermione came to the realization that she truly didn't know her professor at all, and that things may be exactly as he said; he may well survive. After all, he'd had the will not only to silence her, but to win an argument with her; something few could claim.

Remus broke the silence. "Sickle for your thoughts?"

Hermione snorted "A sickle, professor?"

A corner of Remus' mouth twitched upwards in a half-smile. "I have no doubt your thoughts are far more weighty and valuable than a Knut could compensate for. And you should certainly call me Remus, considering. Even should you decide against this."

"Profess-" Hermione started, then rolled her eyes at herself "_Remus_. I … I still don't understand, what did you mean about 'my own reasons'. As you yourself said, it would be worth it simply to be 'rid' of the curse. And I have far less to risk in this than you."

"On the contrary, Hermione, you are risking far more than I am. I am only risking my life, you are risking living."

Quite suddenly, it dawned on Hermione what Remus was talking about. How had the book said it? _Should they both survive the ritual…eternally bound to him, giving up will and even life should he wish it… personality may change entirely, becoming wholly subservient, according to how easily the she-wolf is bested… complete control, even over the wolf…driven mad, over simple insecurities…_

"Oh" was all she responded. "I… do you… I don't…" Suddenly, she felt extremely awkward. As a question over life and death, it was simple. This, however, was far different. If he lived, she would be his mate. Not simply a wife, but a mate; soul-bound to love him, to feel as he felt, to put complete control of her life in his hands. She didn't know if she could handle turning over control like that, let alone being dominated in the way the book said.

She was afraid. Afraid of everything from the bond itself, to the physical repercussions. She'd never even had a boyfriend, and so much would suddenly be expected, required of her. She couldn't imagine she could satisfy his needs, and he couldn't possibly want her in that way. So, if she completed the bond, she would die anyways. He wouldn't love her, or want her, and she would know it, would always know it. Slowly, the wolf within her would torture her with the knowledge of her inadequacy, with her failure to make her mate love her. And then, when the wolf gave up on him ever caring, she would die.

It was no choice, really. If he won, she died, but that's exactly what she intended, anyhow. At least this way, no one would think the less of her for it. And now, she knew of Lupin's other reason. Now, she knew he wanted this for the chance at the cure, and she couldn't take that away from him. She almost laughed out loud, at the irony. Yes, she would attempt the bond, for Remus' sake. And, God save her, she was no longer certain who she wished would win.

She sighed, and found herself studying Remus, who had once again turned away from her, lost in his own thoughts. So noble, he looked, standing there, the warm rays of an early evening sun highlighting his form, making him seem to glow. She forced herself to consider what her life would be should he best her; focused her mind upon creating a reality where her former professor was her mate. Where a quiet scene, such as this, might be her mornings' greeting. She found, to her great amazement, that she enjoyed the idea; that such a world held much that she hoped for.

She paused in her musings. Did she truly know him well enough even to guess? What would he ask of her, as his mate? Would she have to quit school? Would he demand she keep house? Would he want children of her? She truly hoped he would not demand such things of her, but she knew he could, and that she, in such a case, would be only too happy to comply. She shuddered to think that she could be controlled so completely, wondering if there would be anything left of her, if forced into such obedience.

It was unimportant. She would not live so very long after the bonding, as for it to matter. Perhaps she would win; he would die, and she would be free for three years more. She tried to make herself hope that he would win. He would not love her, true, but they would both be free of the curse, one way or another. She sighed again. "Yes." She knew she needn't elaborate. She saw Remus turning back towards her, surprise evident, even below the iron control and fluid grace he always displayed.

What, and here she flushed, would it be like to sleep with him? This, if nothing else, would happen; certainly, were they both to survive. If they attempted the blood ritual in the book - and there was no reason not to try it - it would be less than a month from now. But what after that? She realized that she half looked forward to it. If for no other reason, than that she was likely to die soon after the bonding, and didn't wish to die without having even been touched.

She looked up, and locked gazes with Remus. Suddenly, she felt very, very inexperienced, and very much frightened of his touch. Surprise flickered across Remus' face, almost as though he'd read her thoughts… And that's when Hermione remembered he was a master Legillimens, and that he very likely just had. She flinched, blushing crimson, and turning away. Some thoughts are just not meant to be shared. Though she was very much glad that he hadn't caught her earlier musings. Better that he know of her insecurities, than discover her contemplating death.

It came as a surprise when a gentle hand brushed a lock of hair from her face, and tucked it behind her ear. A sigh that seemed soul-deep brought Hermione's gaze from a study of the carpet up to Lupin's face. His face seemed so different up close. So far removed from the mask of learned indifference he wore. And yet his expression was one she could not place, or even describe. She turned towards him, uncertainly.

"Hermione. I- there is no reason to be afr- no, that's not what I mean to say. There is every reason to be afraid, but not of me. I… that is the wolf… that is…" Remus was flustered, and it was almost… cute. He was… more approachable, this way.

"Remus?"

"There are a great many things I need to say, that we need to talk about, and there wouldn't be nearly enough time if we had a year. Forgive me, Hermione, but I must be blunt about many things I would rather say some other way. There simply isn't time to –"

"Just say whatever it is you need to."

Remus sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "Firstly, I want you to know, that if this bond takes my life, I will not have you blaming yourself for it. Secondly, should this, should we, succeed, then… I will be a good mate, a good husband, to you, Hermione. No matter what the bond demands of you, or how it changes you. I won't be forcing you to spend the rest of your life locked in a house, slaving away to cook and clean for me, tending dozens of children."

Hermione let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "You really thought me as horrid as that?" Remus locked gazes with her, chuckling. "If it comes to it, I'll /order/ you to read." Hermione joined in the laughter.

Remus turned serious. "And thirdly." He reached out, sliding an arm around her waist, and pulling her close. "I would like to teach you not to fear my touch." Hermione's brain shut down entirely, as Remus' lips brushed hers. It was almost like fire, the feeling that raced through her when they kissed.


	5. Ambell

A/N: I got lots of questions about why Ambell wasn't mentioned in the last chapter. So, what will happen to her on the full moon? I must have passed over it too quickly, but, according to Snape, they'll be able to drug her, and make her sleep through the transformation. Since everyone was so curious, I'll go over it in greater detail in here.

This chapter is mainly an intro to my OC. If you like OC's, read and enjoy! If you don't, you can skip, I'll tag a summary to the end.

Chapter 5

Soft, slightly pink-tinted light filtered in through the curtains, waking Ambell from a deep sleep. It caused a warm, contented feeling to start, focused on the patch of light she found herself bathing in. For a moment, she contemplated rolling over and sleeping through the morning sun, but couldn't quite bring herself to turn away from the beautiful feeling of contented safety that she hadn't enjoyed in so long. Then she remembered where she was, and why she was safe.

Her gaze drifted to Hermione's bed, but it was empty. Looking past, she found her friend spleeping against the rooms' other window, curled up on the window seat. Hermione had her pajamas on, but the still-made bed proved she hadn't really intended to sleep. Her breath made little puffs of fog upon the glass, which was still cool in the early morning. Her hair was braided back out of her face in twin braids, but a few strands had escaped and curled about her face. Ambell hadn't seen her look so young in years, not since they'd been bitten.

Ambell wanted to cry, seeing her like that. It was too much, what Hermione had done for her. Ambell was free for the first time, free like she'd never thought she would be, ever again. And that was entirely due to the efforts of her best friend. Ambell knew she would've done the same thing in Hermione's place, but couldn't bring herself to be completely happy that it had been done. Not that she wasn't grateful, but she didn't want the cost of her freedom to be her best friends' life. And, one way or the other, that's exactly what the cost would be.

It was selfish, she knew. Ambell was far more willing for the cost of freedom to be the life of some unknown werewolf desperate for a cure, than for it to be Hermione's unhappiness. And Hermione would never forgive herself for the death of this man, this Remus Lupin. She was already lamenting him, truth be told. Every night since they'd been here, and it had been a full week, now; Ambell had woken to find Hermione perched on that windowsill, her bed untouched. This was the first time Hermione'd been asleep, but the sleepless nights were bound to catch up with her sometime.

And Ambell knew, better than anyone else, that once the Moon was over, Hermione would never be able to live with the guilt. It might be a week, it might be a year, but having another friends' death on her conscience would undo her. So many times, in the past week, she'd caught Hermione hoping for her own death. Hermione'd even called on their agreement, once. But Ambell just couldn't. The agreement had been for the sake of saving towns. This was just one, and he knew what he was risking. But Hermione would never see it that way. She'd try, for the sake of not making his sacrifice in vain, but in the end, it wouldn't matter.

Ambell sighed, and pulled herself up. There had to be an answer, somewhere. There had to be something that would work, that would keep Hermione from killing him. Ambell had spent long enough delighting in the knowledge of her freedom. It was time to find some answers, and she was no slouch when it came to research. She dug her laptop out of her bag; she'd certainly need to be taking notes. The answer is there to be found, as Hermione was so fond of saying, if only you're willing to look hard enough.

At least her own conscience had been relieved. Ambell knew there was no chance she would have found a cure, would even have been up to searching, if she was in Hermione's position as well. They'd be sobbing on each others shoulders; Ambell might have been a greater comfort to Hermione that way, but she wouldn't have done her friend any real good. Ambell was satisfied enough with her own condition that she could focus, and focus was very much needed.

It had come as quite a surprise, at the meeting that first night, when the Potions Master had told her she needn't fear the moon, that Muggle-turned-werewolves like herself could be drugged and simply kept unconscious for the full moon. It was odd that neither Ambell nor Hermione had found such a thing in their research. But then, every book they'd read dealt with werewolves in the Wizarding world, and it was entirely likely that they'd just missed or ignored the necessary passage.

The two had been researching together for years, though. It had begun when the ministry had brought them home; they'd been unwilling to spend more than a few moments apart, since no one else knew what they were going through. Their parents allowed the girls their time, thinking it the simpler matter of Mark's death. The first few weeks, they'd spent the time just talking and crying together. Eventually, however, Hermione'd needed to complete her summer homework.

Not having any summer homework, being unwilling to leave Hermione's side, and having quite an interest in magic, Ambell had worked with her. At first, Hermione had tried to keep her friend from it. While she'd always shared the wizarding world with her friends, Hermione didn't think it would be useful or even healthy for Ambell to be reading Wizarding textbooks. Ambell had ignored her. Though she obviously couldn't cast spells, there was no harm in learning the theory. And texts such as History of Magic were, obviously, as useful to her as they were to anyone magical.

Hermione had conceded the point. By the end of the summer, she'd been infinitely glad she had. History of Magic was, apparently, not the only branch of magic that didn't require the learner to be magical. And Ambell, brilliant as she was, had picked up everything she could, and given it a try.

Hermione might be the brightest witch of the wizarding world, but they'd been competitors in grade school, both several grades ahead, even by the time Hermione left, at eleven. Ambell had graduated fully four years early, and continued on to University. Ambell had finished her Bachelors' in four different subjects two years ago, and been working on her advanced degrees in Math and Chemistry since. Ambell had only just obtained her Masters in Chemistry this past semester, and was quite glad, now, that she'd finished it. She'd planned on finishing her Doctoral thesis for math this next year, but now it would likely have to wait, at least until something was done about The Bastard.

Needless to say, Ambell could pick up a subject quickly.

Ambell, it had turned out, was fairly decent with Ancient Runes. It was one of the reasons for Hermione's incredible interest in them at school. The moment the two girls had discovered that the magic for runes came only from outside sources, they'd been ecstatic. Even when a rune required blood, it didn't mater if the caster was a wizard. Those runes used the life-force of the caster to amplify natural magic, not the casters' magic itself. The only advantage a wizard might have, is that a non-magic caster would feel more drained by the casting, where a wizards' magic would heal such a drain before it could be noticed.

The other subject Ambell had shown an aptitude for was Potions, and it was this that had driven her to study Chemistry as well as her beloved Math. The links between the magical and non-magical forms of the art were many and strong, though after several years of Muggle Chemistry, Ambell had grown frustrated with Potions' relatively large lack of precision and good equipment. She'd even gone so far in the two fields as to have written a number of essays on the topic, which she'd passed on to Hermione. Hermione'd liked them so well, she had sent them off to a Potions technical journal, and, or so her friend said, some had even ended up published.

The research had gone both ways, though. In learning that her friend could do magic, and that at least some magic might have scientific background, Hermione had re-awakened her interest in a Muggle education. Hermione's parents had been ecstatic at the interest, and done all they could to encourage it. Unbeknownst to her peers in the wizarding world, Hermione had begun taking correspondence courses. After her parents' death, Hermione had redoubled her efforts. She'd managed to complete her high school education just this past Christmas. Ambell and her parents had gone to her graduation, and both girls had cried when she got her diploma. It was something Hermione's parents would have loved to see.

Ambell smiled a bit, as she pulled on the set of wizards' robes Hermione had lent her. Loose and flowing, they really were more comfortable, as long as you weren't planning on doing anything particularly active. For a moment, she forgot the fate of Remus Lupin, and lost herself in the fantasy of playing about in the wizarding world for the rest of their lives. She shook her head to clear the image; the wizarding world had just as many problems as her own, and it would be years before the two of them weren't hunted for what had happened to Mark.

Ambell sighed. She'd never been a morning person, but if she was going to go, she'd better go now. The second Hermione was awake, she'd want to be involved in any sort of research, and Hermione had quite enough on her mind just now. Ambell tugged the blanket off her bed, and crossed the room. She smiled fondly at Hermione's sleeping form, carefully tucking in her best friend, as not to wake her. "Sleep well, Hermione. I'll find a way, I promise."

With that, Ambell set off to find the library in the dusty old mansion. Yawning, she corrected herself. Coffee first, then library. She'd not do anyone a bit of good, stumbling about and crashing into things.

* * *

The Library was occupied, when she got there. A glance proved the other occupant to be Severus Snape, whom she'd met after the Order meeting a week before. He looked somewhat less threatening, now, flopped onto a couch and sipping his own coffee. She slipped quietly across the room, managing not to catch his attention as she searched for books. She didn't want to answer questions on why she was here. Hermione'd warned her about Snape; he was a spy, a potions master, and, according to Hermione, quite the evil bastard. He might be able to help her, but he was more likely to either curse her, interrogate her, or ignore her for being an ignorant muggle.

Ambell was hardly afraid of a little sarcasm, as her Uncle David, who worked in government intelligence, was rather dry-humored himself. She'd spent the summer with him twice, when her parents had gone on vacation. He was sarcastic with everyone; he said it kept away idiots, fools, and people who were too weak to want as friends. The only people who could stand him were family, but they loved him dearly, and he was fiercely protective of his 'own'.

Ambell had learned, once she'd gotten to know him, that he had a wonderful sense of humor. The other thing she'd learned from him was never to startle a spy. Which is why she was trying, very, very hard, not to let on to Snape that she was anywhere near. She could see his wand, settled in a shoulder holster; both holster and wand lying discarded on the end table. If she startled him, she might just find herself rather thouroughly cursed before she had the chance to explain.

She slipped the books she wanted from the shelf, barely daring to breathe, tucking them under her spare arm with the laptop as she balanced the cup of coffee over to the table and chair in the corner. _Magic really would be rather useful right now_, she muttered mentally, as she headed for a secluded corner table, far away from Snape. _It would be awfully nice to have a spare hand. Or at least to be able to levitate things. _She rolled her eyes at her bout of jealousy, and carefully set up the laptop. Hermione had charmed it to run without electricity, and Ambell was feeling especially thankful just now; there wasn't an outlet in sight. Besides, it meant she didn't have to go dragging cords with her everywhere.

Finding herself seated, and not-yet-cursed, Ambell slowly let out her breath. She took a sip of coffee, but found the bit of sneaking about had rendered additional aides in waking-up unnecessary. Smiling to herself over her success, she dove into the first text. She'd been unable to find the werewolf book, but this one was on Wolfsbane. If Ambell were to find a solution, it was likely to be potions-based. Wolfsbane was relatively new, and a breakthrough she'd been decidedly excited to see, but they'd discarded it as usable early in their research. But she was determined to find out, if not why it wouldn't work for Hermione and herself, why it /did/ work for other wolves.

In the center, she set up her laptop. She'd have to type quietly, but it was worth the extra noise risk to not have to try her hand at quill and ink. Why wizards would insist on such annoying methods, she'd never understand. Why fuss with dipping in inkwells every two seconds, and all the mess if you spilt ink, when a simple ballpoint pen worked so nicely? And scrolls of parchment instead of notebooks? Not in her lifetime. There were a great many things wizards could do that she was unable to, but Ambell, for one, wouldn't take a trade of the entire wizarding world, even for just her laptop.

Grinning to herself, she sorted the books out in front of her, booting the computer and muting the volume. She set the book about the Wolfsbane potion to one side, sorting the other texts between two stacks. One was of magical books werewolves, books with which she was intimately familiar, but might need to reference or double-check. The other stack was of Wizarding technical journal compilations, individual issues hard-bound into a text, where she hoped to find any new information regarding Wolfsbane.

She flipped open the first journal, amused to realize she'd stumbled on one of her own essays. Hermione really /had/ been getting them published. She giggled as she realized that her best friend had published them under her middle name. Who, after all, would associate Scott Marshall with Ambell Scott Marshall? She smiled fondly, and scanned down the page. Only to start in surprise at seeing it marked up in both black and red pen. She blinked, confused… nope, still there. The black appeared to be notes, examinations of her research, and other sorts of scribbles typical of a scientist pondering new information. But the red… corrections? Someone was correcting her work?

It had to be Snape, but… seriously, wasn't making corrections in a technical journal a tad over the top, even for him? At least he made some interesting points, she noted, searching through his black-ink comments. Amused, she read that he found her theory sound, though he worried that her solutions were "overly-muggle". God forbid a Muggle know anything, of course. Snorting in amusement, she flipped past the article, hunting for something related to werewolves.

**

* * *

**

Twelve pages of notes and several hours later, she set down the last of the journals. Ambell had been able to go through the articles far faster than she'd thought possible, as Snape had apparently marked every single one similarly to her own. His remarks had been surprisingly insightful, and had also allowed her to summarize articles quickly, and pass over the ones that didn't hold anything she wanted. She'd had to choke back the laughter several times, while reading his analysies of others' works, once even on an article of her own that he'd found "Foolishly Idealistic"- among other things. She'd found three other of her articles in there, each one covered in red and black ink, though she'd been most amused to find the most recent one entirely free of the red.

She felt a shift in the room, and looked up. Not knowing what had drawn her attention, she checked the clock at the corner of the screen. Surprised, she realized it was dinnertime. She'd skipped straight through lunch. Her stomach took that moment to make her aware of just how hungry she was. It was odd, though, that Snape hadn't noticed her, or that Hermione hadn't come to find her long before now. She shrugged, figuring Snape had been just as wrapped up in his own research as she had been in hers.

She felt his presence behind her chair, then. She smiled, knowing he was about to try and startle her. "Something I can help you with?" She felt him start at her words, then watched as he came around in front and approached, out of the corner of her eye.

"What's all this? Trying to find a cure, when your betters have been unable to? Tell me, have you figured out what a cauldron is, yet, little Muggle?" Snape spoke smoothly, the oddly gentle tone contrasting with the harsh, belittling words.

Ambell immediately felt defensive, but determined not to let him get to her. If she could convince him she wasn't an idiot, he'd be an invaluable help in her research. Showing nothing on her face but a hint of amusement, she simply countered. "Yes, I do believe I have."

"Surely you know that there is nothing you can do, foolish girl. This isn't your world, and you know nothing of it. Leave the research to those capable of it." Snape sneered at her, his eyes falling on an rather advanced potions book that was resting on the table.

Ambell fought to keep her face expressionless, grinning mentally. Even if he wouldn't help her, or let her help him, with the research; this was going to be an awful lot of fun. This fellow was in for quite a surprise.

So she sneered right back at him. "You're right, this isn't my world. Even a child in my world wouldn't work with such imprecise methods, nor be brash enough to call such tomfoolery science." _Ooooh, I think he's gonna die if he turns any more red, _she thought, stifling a giggle. She was really rather proud that she'd startled such a reaction out of the made-of-stone master spy.

"And what would you know of science, _little girl_?" He snarled. "Despite whatever you might think, I hold a Masters in Chemistry, as well as my wizarding credentials." He was obviously flustered by having a child call him on a lack of knowledge in anything related to his craft.

That bit of information caught her off guard. She hadn't expected him to have taken a Muggle degree at all, let alone to have graduated from her Alma Matter. Ambell smirked. "As do I, Professor Snape." She paused, just a moment, then, "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. My name is Ambell Marshall. Ambell _Scott_ Marshall, actually."

Her expression turned to a grin at the obviously gobsmacked expression on the usually sour mans' face. He had obviously made the connection to her nom de plume. She waited a moment, reveling in watching him - standing there awkwardly, every thought showing on his face. He obviously wanted to compare notes, but couldn't bring himself to ask; not after he'd managed to insult her so thoroughly. A moment later, however, she took pity. After all, she _had_ wanted his help, and this had worked out far better than she'd imagined it could have.

She motioned to a nearby chair. "I'd pull up a chair for you, but I daresay you'll be able to do so more easily?" He turned to her then, his eyes questioning, no trace of his former hostility present. "I certainly can't say I'll know anything you don't, but two heads are surely better than one." She cocked her head to one side. "Speaking of magic, and my abilities or inabilities therein, I don't suppose you would mind summoning dinner?" She grinned at him. "One of the annoying things about being a Muggle in a houseful of Wizards. Everyone expects you can do things you can't."

He seemed somewhat surprised at her comfort with magic. "Not at all, Miss Marshall."

"It's Ambell, if we're to be working together, professor." She held out a hand.

He took it. "Call me Severus, Ambell." He smiled, then, a genuine smile; a sight that would have sent any Hogwarts' student running.

* * *

Summary for those who dislike OC's (and no, I'm not insulted, sometimes I don't like them either): Ambell wants to do something to try and help Hermione, who is really, truly, seriously depressed over this whole likely-going-to-kill-Remus thing. She's trying to find a cure, and knows enough about both Potions and Chemistry that she's hoping she might actually be able to help. By the end of the chapter, Snape is working with her.

A/N: And before you all flame me, I'm not _planning_ on pairing them off. They're just going to be friends. I just don't think Snape gets enough credit. I also needed a way to make Ambell cool by herself, without suddenly discovering that she's magical or some such stereotypical foolishness. And yeah, she is a tad extraordinary, but… hey, so is Hermione. I mean, really, we all know Hermione could've passed her NEWTs in the fourth year.


	6. For Escape

A/N: Continuing with the story.

For my "wow, another Mary Sue" readers. laughs yeah, I knew I'd get that reaction out of you lot. So you know, I /was/ going to have her simply /in/ college, but I figured Snape wouldn't respect her enough that way (and I needed them to work together). If it makes things better, pretend she's a third-year college student, who just happened to write one brilliant Potions/Chem treatise, that got published. And that Snape has suddenly become a kinder, more charitable soul. Or something.

For those who awaited this chapter anxiously. This isn't the original; the original is tidily stored away on the hard-drive of a laptop in my possession, whose motherboard decided to quit on me without warning a few months ago. At some point in the future, I may put that chapter in the place of this one; it was, undoubtedly, better. At this time, however, I'm going to give you all something, because I want the story to move along just as much as you do. I can't wait for the end, where… you'll see.

Chapter 6

Hermione woke to a falling sensation. It was beautiful; so free, like nothing held her any more. She could finally understand Harry's love of flying. For just an instant, she was released from the bonds of worry and frustration that had held her for three years, and tightened their hold in the last week.

For one, beautiful, instant.

And then, she hit the ground.

"OW!"

After which, she opened her eyes, finding her gaze fixed on the wood paneled base of the window-seat. Shaking her head to clear it, she looked around. It was dark, but it had an odd feeling to it; like she hadn't slept for just the few instants it felt like. As if to prove her point, Ambell's bed was empty. Not only that, but Hermione was tangled in blanket; obviously, Bell had put it there, and that ruled out a nighttime trip to the bathroom. And there was absolutely no way her best friend would be out of bed and marching about if it were still early enough in a morning to be dark out.

Staying /up/ until it was early in the morning notwithstanding. Ambell was practically famous for falling asleep at dawn – just as Hermione was getting up. But Bell had been sound asleep last Hermione saw, and it had been at least three or so, then. No way was it still morning. The only possible conclusion, then, was that she'd slept through an entire day.

Not that Hermione was particularly disappointed about that. No, she was quite happy to have missed a day of life-in-waiting, as they all stared at each other dumbly and hoped for a miracle. Oh, the others said they were "researching", or "brainstorming", or "discussing", but they were all just as clueless, if not more so, than she'd been for the last three years – and it was rather depressing to be around, with so much on the line. She was, however, rather upset to find herself a full day closer to the full moon. Nine days, she had, now. Nine days for Lupin to live. Or, if some twisted, half-welcome miracle did choose to occur, for her to.

If Hermione had her choice, she'd be in line for a bungee-jump just now, rubbing the ache in her arm from the tattoo she would've gotten three days before. She ought to be out living it up, really, because everything ended in nine days. She'd either be exceptionally depressed, exceptionally dead, or exceptionally not herself anymore. She found herself oddly ticked about always having been a good girl; she'd never done even half the things she'd always intended, and now she had no chance. What, after all, is the point of avoiding something that _might_ kill you, when you're about to die? Especially considering _splat_ting to the ground from a botched parachute would be a much more exciting, and less painful, way to go.

Then, the oddest thought struck her. Oh, but it couldn't be possible, could it? For just a moment, she wondered if there were such a thing as the magical equivalent of a holodeck. But then a voice laughed in the back of her mind, telling her she'd seen far, far too much Star Trek. And then, suddenly, she was laughing aloud, for the first time in days.

"So what if it means I'm crazy? At least that way I'd have something to think about that's not…" she sighed. Things had gotten so complicated, these past days. And on top of contemplating her possible murder-in-nine-days-time of her favorite professor, she was now battling some odd, but somehow extremely depressing emotion, related to him, that she couldn't understand.

Hermione didn't quite know what to make of their kiss, yesterday. It had been nothing more than a chaste brushing of lips, the sort of thing her roommates hadn't bothered bragging about since the fourth year. But it had lit a fire in Hermione, simultaneously disturbing her and burning away every uncertainty. The spot on her lips where his had brushed had burned for hours, as though his lips had never left her own.

And that soft, glowing warmth had lulled her to sleep, allowing her to rest for the first time in days. But, oh, it was so odd. He was, what - eighteen, nineteen years older than her? Something like that, anyhow. But she felt so positively_ right _in his arms, yesterday. But, seriously, she couldn't… _like _Professor… Remus. She couldn't _want…_And yet… she'd felt so safe, so protected, in a way she'd never felt around Harry or Ron. And with everything she'd been through in her life, Hermione doubted there was anyone her own age who'd understand, who could relate, who talk to her on her level.

So many guys would be scared of just her intellect. Let alone the whole wolf thing. Perhaps…

With a shake, she forced a rational argument into her rather emotional line of thought. She was reacting oddly to things because the situation she was in was odd; that had to be it. She saw Remus as a Professor, or perhaps as an … well, not a brother, like she saw Harry and Ron; that would be somehow… wrong. As a friend. That's it. He was a very good friend, and she couldn't possibly be anything else to him. They'd shared a kiss because of the situation, and she'd reacted strongly to it, also, because of the situation. And besides, she couldn't possibly consider anything else, because in three days' time she was most likely going to end up killing him.

The ache in her chest intensified, but she pushed past it, forcing herself to find another topic. The only thing she could think of was the topic that had plagued all of them since that first moment in Grimmauld Place; the night of the moon. They couldn't lock her up, or knock her out, or feed her Wolfsbane. No lock would hold, and the wolf's magic would wake her up from any unconsciousness short of death.

But what /would/ Wolfsbane do? Would it let her keep her mind? Perhaps, let her keep herself just well enough to avoid the killing blow? Or would it, perhaps, make the wolf too calm, and easily submit? But wasn't that what she wanted, anyways? For Remus to win?

Well, it was certainly worth looking into. If nothing else, it would occupy her mind, and keep her from the agony of waiting. But she had to be careful how she went about it – if she found something she could do, it would be likely to be something dangerous. Just now, she didn't imagine she could convince anyone to let her try it.

A part of her whimpered that occupying herself would make time pass faster, and she'd find herself at Moonrise far, far sooner. She shoved it in a box, and locked in the key, snarling that the waiting was worse than anything. She almost slammed the door as she strode determinedly from the room, curbing the impulse only at the last possible second. It would do her no good to call the attentions of the entire household, and especially not those of Remus.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Waiting at the entrance to the Library, hidden in the shadows of an odd little alcove, Hermione caught the tail end of the oddest conversation she could have imagined.

"Call me Severus, Ambell." Came the deep, surprisingly even-sounding voice from within the room.

She'd heard them arguing, and had even debated exposing herself to the wrath of the rest of the order for the sake of rescuing her friend. Oddly enough, however, Bell seemed to handle the situation rather well, ignoring the biting quality of the professors' words, and giving as good as she got (if rather pridefully). Professor Snape was still speaking, even now, but his voice was rather muffled, as though he had turned, and was, perhaps, gathering up his things.

"…however, like to take meals together. As such, we are rather expected at dinner, and it would be wise of us to journey downstairs, if for no other reason than giving your friends' excuses, and thereby staving off the man-hunt."

Hermione didn't wait around for Bell's reply, instead looking frantically for a hiding place, and, when none was to be found, pressing herself as fully into the corner as she could manage. Professor Snape emerged a moment later, Ambell at his side, both entirely too immersed in their topic to pay any attention to their surroundings. Even having heard the conversation, seeing the Potions Master so engrossed in conversation with a teenage Muggle that he failed to take in the smallest nuance of every shadow was shocking. Pushing every thought of the odd pair from her mind, she slipped into the now-empty Library. Dinnertime was the surest bet for finding space to herself, but still, Hermione worried that someone would walk in on her.

Not that they'd be upset to find her in the Library itself, just that everyone seemed determined to "allow her time to herself" – something she was far from sure that she wanted. Especially not the way they interpreted it; no books, no study; let everyone else do the housework, the searching, the researching. If she'd been fully herself, there wasn't a chance she'd have let them keep her out of the loop. But she wasn't, and she knew it quite as well as they did.

So she had to choose carefully. And _quickly_. Unfortunately, nearly every book that might be helpful seemed to have already been pulled by Bell. And taking one (no chance on her best friend not noticing) would be a clear signal that she had been here, which would lead to questions, which would lead to more "time to herself". There were only two books still on the shelves that were at all related to the curse. One looked more like a fanciful romance, and the other was one that both she and Ambell had read so many times it was quite fully memorized.

She wondered whether there was some other approach; the feeling from earlier returned, that there was something simple, something obvious, that they'd all missed. At the same time, however, she knew she couldn't stay in the Library much longer without getting caught. It had been at least twenty minutes since Snape and Bell had left, and someone might come in at any moment. Desperate for something, _anything,_ to read, just to take her mind off things, Hermione grabbed three books from the shelves at random, and, fighting the nearly overwhelming urge to make a mad dash for her room, slunk back into the shadows.

It was fortunate she did. Just as she retreated into the oddly placed little alcove, Tonks and Ginny appeared around the corner and headed into the library, determined expressions fixed on their faces. Hermione wondered what had occurred at dinner, to cause two of the most light-hearted girls she knew to turn so solemn-faced, but attributed it to a combination of the situation and having Snape present for dinner. If nothing else, the mans' biting comments certainly made for excellent motivators.

The rest of the trip to her room was uneventful. The closest she came to an Order member was in passing the door to the kitchen, from behind which an oddly half-jovial set of sounds emanated, the sort of company that soldiers might share before a battle, or relatives might share in the days after a funeral: happy, but with a keener-than-usual knowledge of great grief. It called to her, but she knew that, despite being the one who needed it most, despite the fact that she, more than any save Lupin, was the one going into battle, her presence would be … unwelcome. Or perhaps simply… awkward. They would feel badly about enjoying themselves around her, and she would feel too badly herself to make the effort necessary to keep things moving. No, it was better that she simply continued on her path.

She sagged in relief upon reaching the sanctuary of her room, locking the door behind her, and flopping onto her bed. Plopping the stack of books beside her, she stretched out for a good, long read. Only Ambell would disturb her, with the door locked, and Bell would understand her need for books. And, considering the topics of the books were "safe", her best friend might even encourage her to read.

"Then again, the books could be about anything." Hermione said to herself, flipping the first book over.

Bound in green, titled in black, and edged with gold, the book made quite an impressive picture, pristine enough to seem newly bought despite the thick layer of dust that declared otherwise. Oddly enough, it was the "romantic" book on werewolves, the first page featuring a tissue-covered drawing of a woman being swept up into a mans' arms, both gazing adoringly at each other; a pair of wolves, emerging from a forest, framed them on either side, obviously intended to look daring and roguish; the couple's intertwining capes creating an even more dramatic, and romantic, effect. It was titled "Love in All Forms", and Hermione had to bite back a sarcastic bout of laughter, settling for a snort. _Love_, of all things, was most definitely not what the life of a werewolf suggested. And, honestly, those two wolves would eat the poor, unsuspecting, twitterpated idiots for breakfast before they even knew they were being attacked.

_Screams, terrible screams. Howling, echoing, mingling screams and barks and tearing. Trees above, dirt and grass below. Black and green-black and brown-black; unidentifiable shapes whipping past. Everything a shade of black. Black of pain… black of blood… black of vision._

Hermione shook her head to rid herself of the images. Even now, she couldn't bear to have them called up. Even now, as she stared at the very real, very solid walls around her, she could still see the shadows of trees and wolves and forest. Hands slightly shaking, she shut the cover of the offending book, and, moving to her trunk, tucked it away where it wouldn't be seen. Slightly apprehensive, now, she turned to the next book, wishing she hadn't grabbed things so blindly. A nice, muggle, unassuming novel would be the best thing for her right now, but there was little chance she'd have found such a thing in the _Black_ family library.

As if it might bite her if she moved too quickly, she slowly flipped the next book, almost flinching away as it fell the rest of the way over. Glancing at the cover, she breathed a sigh of relief. _Places One Must See in London _was hardly going to bring up any bad memories, and might even serve to distract her for a bit. Emboldened, though worried the next text might be a tome of dark curses, Hermione flipped it over.

_Muggle and Magical Watercraft _met her eyes.

"Nothing troublesome there." She declared, happily. Though boats were hardly a subject that interested her. Honestly, what sort of a person found entertainment in stranding themselves out in the middle of a body of water?

The tourist book was the best of the lot, really. There were so many places she wanted to see, so many things she'd never had the chance of doing, that she'd always wanted to do. If only she could do them, if only she were free of the order for the next nine days, and could do as she pleased. But how could she face them, if she went off to enjoy herself, only to return, not having even been present for the search for a cure, in order to kill Remus? What sort of person would she be, if she left like that? How could she expect them to simply… wait on her, like that?

No, if she couldn't solve her problems herself (and, at this point, she wouldn't dare risk losing her soul in an attempt to go to the ministry), she'd have to face the music here. If only there were a way to give them more time, even if it were a risky chance, she could take it. And if she survived, they would, at the least, have another month to work out a plan. And if not… no harm done. No more problems, no more wolf, and no worrying about becoming a mindless automaton, either.

Unhappily, she shifted over to her side, in an attempt to focus on her book. Behind her, however, the other book slid off the bed when she moved. Grumbling, but unable to surrender any bit of literature to such a fate, she reached to grab it back up.

And then she froze.

_Boats._


	7. ThreeFourths Right

A/N: I'm not saying anything, really, except: this isn't over nearly yet. And don't worry, _dancing in rain,_ there'll be more Hermione/Remus. Tons more. But now is Hermione time.

Disclaimer: I forget these most of the time. I don't own Harry Potter, nor his little friends.

2 A/N: Snape would like to register his protest at being called a friend of Potter. I will not repeat the exact words, nor his remarks concerning being called "little".

* * *

Chapter 7

It was amazing. It was incredible. It had fallen right into her lap (or, perhaps more accurately, out of her bed). It was more than she'd even dared to hope for, and, best of all, it was _possible._

Oh, but there was so much she could do with this. And, just as she'd felt all along, the answer was ridiculously simplistic. One word, just one word, and the whole world righted itself again. Five letters – four, if you didn't count the plural…

"Oh! I swear I'll never mind another four-letter word so long as I live. Boat! Boats! Haha! Boat, boat, boat!" Hermione chanted, dancing.

Everything was suddenly so much brighter, so much better. A plan could follow, but the barest bones were already there; all she had to do was strand herself in the ocean, too far away to swim back. She wouldn't harm anyone, her soul wouldn't be sucked out, and 'Bell could sleep out the moon unconscious. Best case scenario, she'd give everyone an extra month, or perhaps several by doing this again and again; however long it took to find a solution. They'd find a solution for 'Bell, as well, maybe one that used the curse in such a way that she and Lupin gained control of it, a mated pair, but without the side-effect of 'Bell losing her will.

Come to that, Harry would defeat Voldemort easily, with few extra losses on the side of light, marry Ginny, and spend the rest of his life in contented normality. Ron would … be a Chudley Cannon, and wear horrid orange every day for the rest of his life. They'd all live happily ever after, the few people Hermione loved best given everything she'd ever hoped for them. She herself would go on with her education, perhaps teach one day. No matter the outcome, her friends would be at her side, and all would be well.

Hermione snorted. That was rather unrealistic, but still, it _was _the "Best Case Scenario." More realistically, she'd give them an extra month. Maybe nothing would really change, but at least they could all feel like they'd really given it a go. Perhaps she could talk Lupin out of it, and be sour and horrid enough to everyone that they'd send her off to the Ministry, instead. Lupin would live, 'Bell would live, but they would both be cursed by the moon to the end of their days. She would… likely face worse-than-death by Dementor, but possibly face a little ministry corruption instead, exchanging her integrity for three more years to watch over her friends.

Worst case scenario, the wolf would exhaust itself on the way back, and she'd drown. It was a risk she was perfectly willing to take. Honestly; it would have been ridiculous to even _hope_ for a solution that didn't involve any risk.

Shaking off her sober mood, she snatched the text back up from her bed, and kissed it. She wouldn't let what might be bother her. Hermione had found hope, and hope was a great deal more than she'd had an hour ago. Hugging the tome to her chest, she closed her eyes, and breathed a huge sigh of relief, forming what might be called a prayer of thanks, and letting it out with her breath. To whomever or whatever had brought this about, she was truly grateful.

Boats, of all things, the only subject she'd ever purposefully avoided studying, were the answer to every question that had so long haunted her. Feeling rather bad about previously ignoring the subject, she attempted to make amends by waxing poetic. "Oh, how under appreciated, floating wood upon the water! Water, sweet water! Breath of life and living!" Assuming a mockingly Shakespearian pose, she nearly shouted (only remembering at the very last minute that she didn't wish to be heard). "Salvation of the curs_ed_ beast!"

Worried someone might have heard her and decided to come looking, she tucked the book into her trunk, right at the bottom beside the odd wolven love story. The story seemed entirely unfrightening just now, nothing more than someone's foolish, optimistic sentimentality. Collapsing back onto her bed, she dissolved into giggles. Everything would be fine. All she had to do was form a nice, orderly plan, get hold of a great deal of money, and pack everything. Considering her former predicament, it was little more than child's play.

* * *

Breakfast was noisier than it had been in ages. Hermione was busy trying to pretend to not be as happy as she was, right alongside trying to pretend to be feeling better than she had been. She really didn't think she was doing a very good job, and thought sure that _someone _would notice how cheerful she was (relatively, of course; she _was_ still facing the prospect of dying, even if she couldn't be bothered by the thought of it just now). Oddly enough, however, even Remus was simply smiling right back at her; she couldn't figure it out – shouldn't "the wolf" be "telling" him that something wasn't right with her? Perhaps he could only sense the fact that she truly was feeling better. After all, the nagging guilt in the back of her mind wasn't really an _emotion…_technically.

Whatever it was, Hermione was the happier for it. Tonks and Ginny were cracking jokes, Harry was sitting happily beside her, and the rest of the Order were chattering on about inconsequential things. Even Mrs. Weasley looked happier – though it was that soppy sort of happy that mothers get; tears in the corner of slightly-puffy, too-bright eyes, grin trembling as though it was a thousand other expressions as well. It was the sort of moment that nearly glittered in its intensity, where time seemed almost tied up, flying past and stretching out – the sort of moment one carries with them all their life. She couldn't help but be glad she was here to experience it, couldn't imagine a better way to… finish things out.

The only person missing was Bell, but Hermione knew she was tucked away someplace swapping tricks of the trade with Snape. She was glad her friend was getting along with someone and enjoying herself, even if she couldn't understand why anyone would want to get along with _him._ Of all people, really, for Snape and Ambell to be enjoying each others company… But she wouldn't stand in the way of anything that made her friends happy today. Well, except for once. One little thing she had to do, to interrupt Bell, but it was all for a good cause.

Today had to be good. Today was the last.

There wouldn't be another. If her plan worked, it would only be a short time; she'd see some sights, run about town, and come back. They'd be angry with her, but they'd get over it. And if a solution couldn't be found in the next month, either… their anger would be useful as well. And if her plan didn't work, well, at least they'd all have these good memories.

Speaking of which… "Harry" she poked her friend. He turned to her, suddenly serious, his eyes questioning. "Can I ask you a favor?" She asked.

"Anything." He responded, looking dead serious. Hermione had to hold back a flinch at her choice of adjectives, but still, she appreciated his sincerity.

"Do you have your Firebolt with you?"

"Um, yeah, I do." Harry said, looking confused. "Professor Dumbledore got it back for me at the end of –"

"Nevermind that." Hermione interrupted, waving off the explanation. "Would you take Ambell up, once? The yard out back is as hidden as the house, and I already asked for permission to fly there. It's been a dream of hers, ever since we learned about the wizarding world. And I've never been a good enough flier to trust myself with a passenger."

Harry's face lit up. "Sure, Hermione, of course I will. You sure she wants to?"

"Positive."

He looked contemplative for a moment. "You know… I bet we could alter a broom so she could ride it. For herself, I mean. I don't even know if they use the riders' magic to begin with."

Hermione was rather impressed. It was rather unlike Harry to make an unobvious connection like that, or even to be interested enough to try. Unfortunately, he was wrong. "Actually, they do. Not a great deal of your magic, mind, but that's why you start your first lesson by calling the broom. It develops a pattern of calling out with your magic – mimicked by calling out with words - in order to fly. The broom's actual magic is drawn from outside natural sources, but it's activated, and kept active, by your own."

She stopped, and thought a minute. "But you might have something, there; if you gave the broom some other trigger, it might be able to be flown by a muggle as well." Shaking herself from her musings, she continued. "But that's neither here nor there, and certainly not for today. We can work on the theory later. For now, let's fly." She grinned.

Harry grinned right back at her. "Books later, flying now? Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione?"

* * *

Harry was having the time of his life.

Hermione could tell that much quite plainly, even from where she was sitting, safe on the ground. And Ambell was, if possible, even happier. For every trick, every stunt, Harry had a slightly better way, could cut it just that much closer, make it just that more intense. And Bell, though she'd laughed and cheered in the beginning, had settled into a blissful sort of expression that was only matched by the brooms other rider. She didn't have to cheer, anymore, though; Harry'd landed, once, and she'd begged him to take her back up. Surprised, even after all the cheering, he'd looked her square in the eye, and realized she felt as he did. Not another word was needed after that.

And Hermione's happiness, though muted in comparison to theirs, was complete. Remus had come out, perhaps three hours ago, looking as though he meant to call them in. One look at the fliers, and he'd merely settled down beside her to watch. The only comment he'd made, after sitting there and watching Harry do another complicated-looking twisting loop, was "No book?" To which she'd answered, never taking her eyes off the sky, "No. Not this time." His hand had slipped over hers, which was propping her up in the grass, and he gave it a warm sort of half-squeeze. He'd resumed watching the sky with her, but he hadn't removed his hand, not until he got up to leave, without a word, at least an hour after. Lunch, perhaps even dinner, might have come and gone by now, but it was truly unimportant.

And then the garden door slammed behind her, and an angry voice bit out. "What in _hell_ do you think you're _doing!_"

Hermione flinched, and felt immediately like a terrible friend. She'd intended to spend some time with Ron, playing chess, or whatever else he wanted, but she'd been too absorbed in watching her other friends. Why she'd wondered about Remus, earlier, before he'd come out, and not Ron, was entirely beyond her. Really, the smartest thing would have been to invite Ron to this from the beginning – he liked flying pretty well, even if he liked it more for Quidditch than for its own sake. Really, though, he hadn't been at breakfast… and after that, she'd forgotten.

"The entire Order is inside, working on half nights of sleep and too much coffee, and you three are _flying?_" Ron ranted.

Harry drifted towards the ground, obviously feeling guilty as well, for neglecting his best mate. Now, Hermione really did feel like an arse. She'd acted just as she'd accused him of, so many other times; rashly, childishly. Worse, there was no way she could explain why she'd done as she had. No way to make him understand. And when she left – oh, this wasn't how she wanted him to remember her. Not only that, but it would likely leave a rift between him and Harry, and if she didn't come back, it might not ever heal.

"I cant believe you, any of you! And _you_ Hermione. I thought you had more sense!" Spinning on his heel, Ron stormed back into the house.

Bell stared awkwardly between Hermione and Harry. "I… should go."

Clearing her throat, she continued, somewhat stronger, "There is a lot of work that needs doing. Professor Snape said he was going to come back after dinner, and might even be here now." She started towards the door, but turned halfway, addressing Harry "Thanks so much for this. It meant … a lot. More than I can even say."

And then she left, and the courtyard fell quiet, as the remaining two stared in silence.

Harry gave Hermione a sad half-smile. "He's just worried about you, you know. He's upset, and he's frustrated, because there's nothing he can do to help."

Tears threatened at the edges of her eyes. Today was supposed to be perfect. "When did we all trade roles?" Shutting her eyes to keep from crying, she whispered. "I'm supposed to be the one who understands, and who keeps us from fighting, and who keeps the two of you out of trouble."

Harry clasped a hand on her shoulder. "I only know what he's thinking, because I feel the same, Hermione. I just express it differently, and _you_ taught me that."

He gently squeezed her shoulder, and then followed Bell into the house.

Hermione fell to her knees, and sobbed.


	8. Lasts

A/N: This is for _Turneround_, who asked me to post the next chapters, even though they're from the perspective of the re-written story (that I haven't finished re-writing). The difference: Hermione is 23, Bell 22, not 17 and 16 (they've been to the ministry twice, before Hermione had to spend a summer at 12 Grimauld). Remus is 40(ish) (assuming Lily had Harry when she was 18, and that Hermione is a year older than most of her peers). Anyhow, it shouldn't effect things storywise too much, as I've been writing Hermione and Ambell as though they were 22 since I started, without realizing it (which was the point of this revamp). There are other things that have happened in that time, such as the other two trips to the ministry, graduation, etc. But Hermione's reactions make a lot more sense, and the independence she's going to display in the next few chapters will make a lot more sense, in this light.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Things hadn't improved with Ron.

As soon as she'd been able to pull herself back together (feeling rather ashamed over her outburst, and blaming it on the emotional roller coaster she'd been riding since she left Hogwarts) Hermione had gone looking for him. It hadn't really been difficult to find him; he'd been just outside the Library, ranting to his mother about how the Order shouldn't even be bothering, because _the Werewolves don't even care_. Repeating Harry's words of wisdom, and trying not to listen to the nagging voices in the back of her mind, she'd made her presence known. Ron had immediately rounded on her, but before he could say a word, she'd launched herself at him, and hugged him fiercely.

He'd frozen in place, not moving an inch, stiff as a board. For half a second, or perhaps less, he relaxed into her embrace, and Hermione thought he might just let it all go. Then his muscles drew taut, and he practically flung her away from him, before taking off down the hall.

And then -

_She closed her eyes the moment he turned the corner, and, fighting the tears, kept them closed as she heard him stomp off through the house. There was so much riding on her plan, and now – now, in the very least, he'd remember his anger when she returned. And at the worst, if she didn't come back, he might well blame himself. It was very nearly enough to keep her from leaving, weakening her resolve until she didn't think she could possibly leave today, if at all._

_Unbidden, the image of Remus' face, bloody, atop a body looking like her memories and nightmares of Mark, forced itself to the forefront of her mind. She nearly threw up in the hallway, fighting to keep the expression on her face neutral for Mrs. Weasley's sake. She must not have done a very good job of it though, for Mrs. Weasley's next words were, _

"_Don't take it to heart, dear. He'll come around – he's only upset that you need to do things like that, last things, not that you're doing them."_

_The feeling that Mrs. Weasley understood feelings better than anything or anyone else in the world, extra-senses or not, was hardly new to Hermione. But the fact that the woman recognized that she was fighting the desperate battle of "lasts", trying to complete everything started, share the sort of moments and leave the sort of memories that everyone wants to have, simply astounded her. Not to mention that Mrs. Weasley could face it with strength, when smaller things had reduced Ron's kind-hearted mother to tears. When Hermione felt comforting arms wrap around her, it was as though all the barriers to her heart fell away at once._

_Stoic indifference broke down; silent tears slipped past, and the woman who'd been mother to them all simply held her, not judging, not asking anything._

_Hermione told her everything, laid bare every pain, sorrow, frustration that she felt or didn't even know if she felt, and still, her comforter simply comforted. Yet, as her rational mind had thoroughly escaped her, not a single word of anything she said was intelligible – half of it came out as little more than a chocked half-sob, or a shaking cry of pain. And for once, Hermione Granger didn't give a damn about how she sounded, or whether her grammar was right. She ranted about Remus, about Ambell, about Death and Life and Dying and Living and the unfairness of it all._

_And when all the tears had dried, Mrs. Weasley simply said. "There, now, that's better, isn't it? You should talk to Remus, I think. Though… perhaps you don't know quite what to say, yet, eh?" Her eyes held a twinkle that was oddly reminiscent of Dumbeldore._

_Hermione had looked at her oddly, and yet Mrs. Weasley's smile had only widened. "Oh, go on, dear. Go sit out in the garden, or go on up to your room. Dinner will be in an hour – make sure you're there, you've missed Lunch already."_

"_But – that's exactly what everyone's mad at me for, isn't it? That I –"_

"_Whatever gave you the idea that everyone's mad at you? Ron is, yes, I'll give you that. You'd be right to say he couldn't possibly understand. But the Order is made up of adults, not children, dear. We've been through one war already, and all of us have had those moments of desperate "lasts". We even used to have a name for them, calling them – well, perhaps some things are better left in memory."_

_Hermione simply gaped at her._

"_The point is, we'd be more disturbed if you hadn't done something like that. In fact, a good number of us had been thinking you were planning to run off and do something drastic, until today. You needed the release of it, and you'll need it again before the end, like as not. I fully expect to see you up on that broom for yourself, at least once before the end of the week." But then she frowned. "That isn't you, is it? You hate flying- I'd forgotten."_

_Mrs. Weasley's stare was evaluating, piercing. It was the sort of stare you'd expect from Snape, not from the matronly head of the Weasley clan. Then she was staring past, obviously thinking, eyes unfocused. "You need something to do, something worthwhile, that's what you need. Something to keep you busy, but that you'll enjoy…" She murmured, tapping one finger against her chin. _

_Suddenly, she snapped her fingers. "Why don't you and Harry work on that Muggle broom-riding idea I heard him babbling about to Minerva? In fact, that's exactly it. And, as the rest of the Order's in the Library most of the time, I only want you in here to get books. You can work in the kitchen – that way, everyone will get involved when they can. We all need something light-hearted to break things up a bit. Come on, now, come with me while I start dinner, and you can pick my brain for a bit. I was quite good at Charms in school myself, you know."_

And Hermione had found herself at the scrubbed kitchen table, comparing notes on the charms used to fly brooms. She'd found Mrs. Weasley, surprisingly, a veritable well of information, and had actually managed to lose herself in the idea.

So much so, that she hadn't realized they had an audience, until dinner was served, and she'd been forced to remove herself from her thoughts enough to take in her surroundings. She'd been surprised to find half the order gathered around the table, but, despite the thorough teasing she'd gotten for jumping at the sight, she hadn't been the least bit displeased. Especially not once they started voicing their opinions, and giving her advice.

"So, you think the flight charms themselves can be altered, but not the steering charms?" Hermione questioned.

"Quite right, Miss Granger." Hermione's old head of house answered, continuing the now round-table discussion. "The flight charms can be activated by an outside source, just as young Mr. Potter suggested. However, the steering charms draw from the intent of the magic user, just as spells draw from the intent of the caster."

"But I thought brooms were simply steered – you know, pull up to go up, push down to go down, turn right, turn left…"

"That's very much like saying the incantation determines the spell. It can appear that way, but it isn't necessarily true."

"It isn't?" Harry questioned, interrupting them.

Hermione stared at him as though he'd just grown a second head. "Harry James Potter, we learned silent spells in the sixth year. Don't tell me you haven't used them since! What on earth are they teaching you in Auror training!"

Harry blushed, looking down in a failed, boyish attempt to keep everyone from seeing it. "That wasn't what I meant. I didn't think you could say the _wrong_ thing, is all. I thought you still had to say the spell, just…in your head, you know?"

Hermione nearly giggled, except that she didn't think Harry would appreciate it much. "You mean to say you still say 'Accio' in your head, every time you want something?"

Harry looked at her oddly. "Yes…..?"

Professor McGonagall interrupted before Hermione could respond too condescendingly (and it was probably a good thing, considering the two best friends were to be working together the next few days) "It's unnecessary to do so, Mr. Potter. And you can say the 'wrong' incantation as well, as long as your intent is clear in your own mind. That point is neither here nor there, however; we were discussing brooms.

"The broom, like the spell, is not controlled by any manipulations in the physical world, be they speaking, or moving, or anything else. To demonstrate, Mr. Potter, and Miss Granger: say you were on a broom, and were flying straight forward at a reasonable speed. Now, you pull up on the handle. What happens?"

"You go up." Harry answered, at the exact same moment as Hermione said "You stop."

"Exactly." The professor beamed at them. "Both actions are commonly associated with 'pulling up' on the broom handle. It is actually the intent of the Witch or Wizard upon the broom that determines which action is taken."

"There's also another bit of a lesson in that for you, Hermione." Remus said, a mischievous glint in his eye, a smile fighting to show itself on his face. "Perhaps you're bad at flying, because you _think_ you're bad at flying – you aren't _intending _to fly at all, and your broom was merely responding to that."

Ambell put in a comment, then, not bothering to hide her grin. "Not to over-analyze, but I also think there was something in their answers that relates to their opinions of flying. Harry automatically assumed that, if he were in control of the broom, he'd be going higher, and Hermione automatically assumed that, given the choice, she'd stop!"

Everyone laughed at that, the atmosphere just as cheery, if not nearly so dreamy, as the one that had presided that morning.

Unfortunately, it was interrupted; the kitchen door slammed open, and a furious-looking Ron stormed into the room. Everyone fell silent, looking between him and Hermione expectantly. He picked up a plate, loaded it with food, and stormed back out, without so much as glancing a second time in her direction.

Despite the brevity of the visit, though, the mood was broken. The silence lingered a while longer, until Mr. Weasley rose. "Well, I must be off to bed. Us old folks need a bit of rest, after all." He held out a hand to his wife, and, nodding their goodnights, they left.

McGonagall stood and stretched gracefully. "You've an excellent idea going, Miss Granger. I'm sure you'll find a way around those steering charms, after all. Come and see me anytime you need help." She said, before she, too, departed.

One by one, everyone else followed, until it was only Harry and Hermione who were left.

"So, we going to do a paper on this, then, if we succeed? You could publish in one of those journals you go on about. Or maybe use it as your thesis project." He gave her a winning grin, at the last idea.

But Hermione was already shaking her head, even before he finished. "No, there isn't the … er, the… the time."

"Hermione – if… if anything happens... I mean, I think that… I'd like to…" Harry stumbled awkwardly to a verbal stop, blushed, and then snorted. "I sound like an idiot. What I mean to say is that, if need be, I'll write the paper, and publish it for you."

Hermione couldn't say why, but that meant the world to her, just then. "Oh, Harry, would you?"

"Of course." Then he grinned. "Though they might not be able to read it, with my chicken scratch."

"Good thing you know how to type, then." Hermione put in, referring to the time she'd demanded he and Ron learn the Muggle skill of typing, insisting it would be useful to them if they ever wished to pass off as Muggles.

Harry groaned. "You're not still on about that, are you?" He gave her a half-pleading, half-grinning look.

"Of course! One can never learn too much."

Harry's expression turned serious, and he moved around the table to sit beside her, reaching for her hand, and looking at her earnestly. "I'll do whatever you need me to, Hermione. If it helps you that I promise to publish whatever we find, I'll do it, even if I have to buy myself a printing press."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. She blinked rapidly, trying not to cry – she'd cried too much, today. "Thank you, Harry." Her voice was barely more than a whisper. "You've no idea how much your saying that means to me. I really couldn't care if it gets published or not, though." She felt her lips quirk into a sad semblance of a smile. "Actually… it would be nice, if we're successful, if you would see about getting them made. At least – one for Bell."

Smiling softly, Harry squeezed her hand. "It'll be alright, Hermione. It will all be alright. Not just because we want it to be, either."

Hermione wanted to tell him, then. Wanted to let him know that, yes, it would be alright, because she was going to make it alright. For just a moment, she wanted him to know that she cared that much. And a selfish part of her wanted to know if he thought of her like a sister, the way she thought of him as a brother. If he understood what she was doing, and why.

"H-Harry?"

"Yeah, Hermione?"

For a moment more she contemplated asking for his Wizard's oath, and telling him everything, but she just couldn't put him in that position. Once she left, everyone would be asking him if he knew anything, and if he didn't say, and she didn't come back - she knew he'd feel responsible. "It – it _is _going to be alright, Harry." She sighed, and leaned against his shoulder. She couldn't bring herself to say more than that. Harry felt responsible for enough deaths already.

She would wait another day. Maybe a few more days. Either way – she would wait. She would pack, and plan, and sort, and be ready, but she would wait.


	9. Work and Play

Ambell groaned, and rolled over, tugging her blanket over her head. The blasted sunlight was demanding she get up, get out of bed, and she really rather was hoping it would go away. Bed was warm, and soft, and safe, and… she was waking herself up by thinking of reasons not to wake up.

She'd spent most of yesterday flying, but had spent the afternoon and evening with Severus, discussing a chemical solution to Hermione's problems. Then she'd spent whatever was left of the night, and a good bit of the morning, creeping her way through research, which was incredibly frustrating without the help of her best-friend-come-pack-mate. Her extensive education, and therefore endless hours of research, was almost no help when put against a system of literary cataloguing with which she was utterly unfamiliar. It had taken until half one just to find the books she needed; waking up was the last blasted thing she wanted to do right now.

Unfortunately, she had a rather long list of things that had to be done. And every single bleeding one of them had to be done by the time Severus showed up tonight. Which was rather ironic, as most of those things would go a hundred times faster with his help. Worse still, if she wasn't too terribly off, "tonight" was only about four hours away. Crazy normal people and their obsession with being awake while the sun was up.

Then again, the list of things Severus had agreed to do on his end of things was ridiculously long, half of the things on it being well-nigh impossible.

Really, though, she didn't know why all of Hermione's friends thought the man was so horrible. He wasn't – not in the least. You just had to treat him like – well, how silly of her. She knew how to treat him, yes – like one of the older, more reclusive, ingenious-but-grumpy faculty at University – but only Hermione would know a thing about that. The method was simple: realize that he prefers his work to human interaction, and thus is convinced that every minute spent in your presence is a gift not to be squandered, and then be entirely prepared to be told so.

Now, however, she was quite thoroughly awake, and might as well get started on those notes. Throwing back the soft, oh-so-comfortable summer blanket, she rolled out of bed. Only a moments' temptation suggested her retreat, before she shook it off, dressed, and pulled out those of her notes that she'd brought with her yesterday. Or… today, actually, and not-so-very long ago. Sleep still dragged at her, settling its weariness in her spine, but she walked from the room with a determined gate.

This was too important. This was for her life, for others' lives; for Hermione. This was for all the things her best friend had ever held dear. It was for all the things that had ever mattered in her own life. And it was for all the hardships that they'd ever endured, and for the hope that there would be this one less thing, for both of them.

This was for Mark.

Remus was unhappy with the progress he was making, and that was an understatement. Oh, he'd worked his way through all the ins and outs of the bonding ritual, as was his task. He'd memorized every last nuance. As far as anyone knew, however, he was still hard at work on it. That was because they'd made him promise to leave the rest of the researching to them – but he couldn't, not when it was Hermione's life that was on the line. Not when he would have to live with any one of a thousand possible, horrible outcomes, if he didn't find some way around them.

And that was exactly what he was doing – finding a way around. Research had seldom failed him before, at least not entirely, and _somewhere_ there had to be _something_ that would sort this whole mess out. A charm, a spell, a potion – much as the idea of living the rest of his life with all his rights restored appealed to the werewolf, the idea of a mindless, utterly obedient Hermione trotting along after him repulsed him immensely. Oh, he supposed that most men wouldn't be much bothered by the idea – after all, they'd get exactly whatever they wanted from their spouse, from attentive servant to adoring groupie to utterly willing bed partner – but Remus Lupin wasn't most men. He'd prefer his accustomed existence, however lonely, to the one being offered.

Not that he was about to tell Hermione that. He could only be thankful that she was distracted enough by trying to hide her emotions from _him_ that she hadn't been feeling out her new abilities. Bright as she was, it wouldn't have taken her long to realize that not everything was as he'd said – that he was hardly comfortable with the possible outcomes of the upcoming moon. In point of fact, the outcome he was _most_ comfortable with was the one she was desperately fearing – that this moon would be his last. And then – he could be with his friends again, with Sirius and James and Lily, and the worry, and the struggle, and the pain, and the never-ending uncertainty that marked his adult life, would at last cease. Rest, and peace, and so many things he'd nearly forgotten how to feel, in these last years, awaited beyond those final moments.

And, at the very minimum, at least that way his death would mean something.

From the first moment he'd realized Hermione's predicament, he'd been certain of which path he would choose. He'd researched, and studied, and discovered that, while Wolfsbane wouldn't have any effect on the girl, he was still perfectly free to use it, and yet be using himself to free her from her curse. He had been quite certain he could engineer the situation so that she would be free, content that, in all likelihood, by the time another three years passed, the Order would have found a better solution. Which was all well and good, or had been – until he'd found Hermione in her room, the other night. Wanting to die, rather than be the cause of his death. _Wanting _death, just to end the madness of it all – something he could only too well understand. And then, he'd realized what his death would mean to others – or, at least, to _her_.

And that had confused him. It had drawn out feelings that he wasn't quite certain what to do with, that he hadn't felt, or allowed himself to feel, in years. He had suddenly very much wanted to be _with_ her, to protect her from all the things she feared, and allow her the privilege of being weak – or, rather, not as amazingly strong as she'd had to be, for her own sake and for that of her friend, these last years. He'd wanted to be the one to grant her _peace_, to end what she was only able to see as eternal suffering. He wanted to be the one to bring a smile, a true smile, to her face again – especially now that he knew why, in the many years he'd known her, she'd never seemed as completely at ease in his presence, as she had in her third year.

And it had seemed to work. Yesterday morning, Hermione had looked well rested for the first time since she'd arrived, not only coming down for breakfast, but smiling and laughing and even asking Harry about going for a ride on the Firebolt. And her emotions told the tale, even more than her smiles and laughter – she was feeling _safe_, and _hopeful_ – even if a bit guilty. He'd tried to encourage her as best he could, to help ease her guilt at her freedom being at his cost (or at least, that's what he assumed it was) but, for whatever reason, the more he encouraged, the guiltier she seemed to feel, and he'd left it at that. But just seeing her like that, this morning – so alive, so happy to _live_, he couldn't help but wish that he could feel that way again as well, that he could take for himself some small measure of the happiness that life had to offer. That he could be – not alone, anymore. That he could save them both.

And so he wanted a way to win, but just barely. Or to placate the wolf - with … Animagus companions, or ... to simply save her from the moon entirely, as the others were hoping for. Perhaps with some sort of Wolfsbane or sleeping potion or _something_. But there wasn't anything; not a single, even halfway possible idea, except for the poorly explained and completely undefined idea of the "true" mate, which sounded more like someone's fantasy than anything possible, especially considering the utterly too-simplistic-to-possibly-do-anything blood ritual that was supposedly involved.

It was this that was consuming his thoughts, when he was interrupted by Molly Weasley. "Remus, dear, that's not a book on _Wolfsbane_ I see in front of you, is it?"

Feeling more like one of the children than one of the adults, Remus found himself answering honestly, if reluctantly. "It is."

Molly snatched it up from the table, peering at the title. "Good."

Now feeling utterly confused, Remus stared at her. "Good?"

"Yes. Severus has been working on a Potions-based solution, and he told me there was a book missing, that might be of use. It just so happens, that this is the book."

Remus protested half-heartedly. "I don't suppose there's any chance I'll be getting it back, then?"

Mrs. Weasley merely smiled at him, and, glancing over his shoulder at his notes, plucked up the ones directly related to the book.

Returning his gaze to the table, defeatedly, Remus plucked at the – unhappily short - stack of notes that remained, the ones on the ritual he was supposed to be studying, and the ones that contained scribbles and half-formed thoughts and ideas, where he'd ruled out every option but something related to Wolfsbane.

"Why don't you go and join the broom-design team?" Molly suggested, with a soft smile. "I think they'd appreciate the help."

Remus stared, for a moment, at the notes he could be reviewing, just one more time, or the book he could re-read, in hopes of just one hint on how to recognize a true-mate. But he knew the ritual by heart, and knew the relevant chapters of the text nearly as well - and there wasn't a clue to be found. Sighing, he nodded, not bothering to paste a smile on his face. Molly might be fooled, but there was no chance that Hermione would.

He was wary of what he'd find in the kitchen. They'd been a cheerful group last night, true, but if Harry and Hermione had been left alone to brood, all day, or hadn't managed to make any progress on the broom-charms… Remus realized his fears were unfounded, however, as he neared the kitchen. Laughter – that of several Order-members – echoed out from the partly-open kitchen door, honest and simple, and a sound he hadn't thought to hear in times like these.

He paused just outside the door, sorting out the feelings coming from the room. If the laughter was at all forced, he didn't want to enter and make things worse. Or, even more, if Hermione had managed to forget the situation entirely, he didn't want to remind her by his presence. But all he found was honest humor, with an ever-so-slight undercurrent of nervousness. In Hermione, there was a sort of resigned sadness, mingled with joy, and more than a touch of … longing. She certainly hadn't forgotten, but she _was_ enjoying what she could.

The most confusing feeling, in fact, was one he found in himself. A joy that was made from his reaction to others' joy, and to the prospective of a bit of laughter in his own future. An odd sort of pride for Hermione's resilience, and an… ache. An ache he didn't want to identify. An ache that he was far to mature to leave nameless; he wished to comfort her, to protect her, to …

Shaking those thoughts as far from him as he could, Remus slipped into the room, and smiled at its occupants. Surprisingly, almost twice as many were crammed into the kitchen as were in the Library upstairs. A momentary sensation of betrayal flashed through him, that so many would neglect the important work for a few laughs, but that too was pushed aside. Most of those seated about the tables were too engrossed in discussion to notice him, but Harry saw him, and his eyes lit up in that way of his.

"Remus! Come join us, we could use a bit of that Marauder brilliance!" Harry exclaimed, waving him over, and scooting sideways on a bench that was already far too full.

The result was that Neville, who'd taken the seat at the end, was nudged from a perch that must have been less than two inches worth of bench. Joining the room in a laugh, he stood, helped to his feet by half-a-dozen pairs of hands.

"Right, well, that's my cue to leave, I suppose." He said, grinning.

Remus tried to wave him back to his seat. "No, stay, it's fine, I can conjure a chair."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "It would have to be an awfully small chair, to fit in what space is left in here, Remus."

There really _wasn't _much space. Not unless you counted the space by the door - where Remus was currently standing – or an area that was truly too close to the fireplace, even with cool-burning flames and fire-retardant charms. "Or I can stand." Remus suggested, not wanting to displace anyone.

"Nah, it's no problem. I have to be getting home anyhow." Neville said, weaving through the crowd.

Before Remus was even certain the boy was gone, he found himself drawn to the table, and wedged into the seat beside Harry. Glancing at the table, he found an old Cleansweep running down the center, half-assembled (or, perhaps, half-disassembled), and several diagrams, splayed about around it. Each person had a Muggle-style notepad in front of them, and, in a few cases, a notebook. An odd mix of Muggle pens and quill-and-ink alternated throughout the group. A moment later, a voice from his other side startled him from his thoughts.

"Right, well, here's what we have so far." Hermione began.

Remus' gaze immediately fixed itself to her. Her face was aglow with the current challenge, with academic fervor and obsessive-organizational-delight, and she was smiling at him as though he were the last, and most necessary, piece to their puzzle. And he was completely unable to look away.

"Four groups – one for perfecting Muggle-control for the parts we already know will work that way; that is, staying still, hovering, in the air. They're also going to test out what happens if you try to control the broom purely by physical force." Here she rolled her eyes, obviously certain that such testing couldn't end well. "That group's already full, sorry." She said, waving in the direction of Fred and George, who looked up from furious scribbling on a pair of notebooks to flash twin grins in his direction.

"Second group is working on a sort of part-manual steering, a combination of runes, and actual controls. It's the idea that's most reasonable and probable –"

"But the one that appeals least to all of us, as it takes half the fun out of flying, and makes it awfully mechanical… more like driving a car in the air, than actually flying." Harry put in.

"Still, it's the best idea we've got." Hermione returned. The group was beginning to smirk and snort, the argument obviously not a new one.

"No, it's not! It's just the one most likely to work!"

"They've been arguing about that for half the meeting." Minerva said, obviously exasperated.

At that, amusement turned to outright laughter, with even Hermione joining in. "I suppose we have, at that. And it's even worse, really, because Harry's head of that group."

Sharing a look with the young man in question, he read in his eyes the answer – it was worth it, worth arguing-for-fun, or taking on a project he disliked, to see Hermione happy.

Clearing her throat, Hermione continued. "Third group is researching the possibility of using magic to call to the Muggle – sort of the reverse of the current setup. That way would still focus on intent, and otherwise work nearly the same way as the original. Fourth group is an offshoot of that, except on the Muggle side – using technology that understands brainwaves to interpret signals from the mind and use them to control the broom. Minerva's heading the Magic group, and I'm heading the Muggle side."

"Sounds like you've got it covered, actually." Remus said, almost disappointed. It would have been nice to work with one of the groups, and the distraction would have been nice. Sneaking back into the Library would be impossible for at least the next few hours, as Molly would be watching for it.

It was Harry that saved the day. "Nah, Remus, we need you. I could use a whole lot of help, if you wouldn't mind. Hermione's got this stack of ideas I could use for directional controls. I can figure out the Muggle switches just fine, but I don't know runes from scribbles."

Laughing with the rest of the room at the comment, Remus reached to help sort through the papers.

"Pen or Quill?" Hermione asked, flopping a notebook in front of him.

"Pen." He answered, enjoying her surprise at his request. It was worth it, especially as he could elicit a smile from Hermione any time he felt her mood slipping, just by "accidentally" reaching for an ink pot with the plastic pen.

Besides, the only person in the room that knew James had introduced the Marauders to the convenience of the Muggle pen many years before was Minerva. And she just laughed along, even if her secretive smile and twinkling eyes _were _a bit reminiscent of Dumbledore.


End file.
